Glitter and Glass Bells
by Red Chucks
Summary: It was inevitable really. When you had enough potential girls that you had to number them at parties, eventually it was bound to happen. But when it did, Vince wasn't there. Rated for themes.
1. Chapter 1

Authors note: My first attempt at fiction! It's not an original idea, I know, but I figure I can work up to originality once I've figured out the mechanics of writing. I'm not used to writing fiction, my job is writing _Science-faction_ as Howard Moon would say but I'm having a go at it all the same. Hope it's not too terrible.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The Mighty Boosh belongs to the people who actually created it, Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding among them.

It was inevitable really. When you had enough potential girls that you had to number them at parties, eventually it was bound to happen. But when it did, Vince wasn't there.

It still hurt Howard, even two years down the track, that Vince had been the one to move out for good. They still saw each other occasionally, still talked on the phone all the time (Well, once a week, on a Tuesday. Howard wanted to call more often but didn't want to appear clingy.) and, when Howard had needed help on that terrible excuse for a play, Vince had been there. Even if he had derailed the carefully crafted environmental masterpiece with his robots and glitter. He'd been there when Howard had asked him and that had to count for something. It shouldn't have hurt that Vince was now living in various penthouse suites between London and Paris, being the face of Jean Claude Jaquettie. But it did.

They'd had to hire someone new for the shop too, and that hurt a lot more than it should have. At first Naboo had tried to rope his mates into it but that had been disastrous. Saboo had been rude and had questioned every prospective customer as to their prowess in relation to "the Crunch". Tony hadn't been any use at all and had been flung from the counter every time the cash register drawer was opened. It had been amusing the first five times but eventually even Bollo tired to seeing the pink, tentacled head catapulting into the stock behind the counter. Naboo had kept at it though, but even he had eventually had to cede defeat. The green witch had been, well, a green witch, and scared away most customers. Kirk had been fairly capable when it came to sorting stock but his presence had ultimately led to questions about child labour and the illegality of employing a minor, even when Naboo tried to argue that he was several hundred years old and an inter-dimensional being to boot.

In the end they had gone with Leroy. He was the creator of the Celebrity Tagger 2000 after all and that was their biggest draw card as a shop. Besides, without Vince around, Leroy had seemed almost as forlorn as Howard. Not that either man would admit it.

The whole of Camden seemed to be missing Vince, even with his face on every bus in the city, all advertising the new fragrance from Jaquettie. _"Unicorn Tears: Because you know who you are when you're you."_ If a day passed without one of Vince's groupies coming into the shop, desperate for word from him, it was a strange day indeed.

There weren't many strange days anymore. The strangeness had all but evaporated from his life entirely, Howard pondered one morning as he rolled up the shutters and opened the Nabootique. There was no graffiti to clean off, no crack foxes, no cockney nut-jobs, no adventures to other worlds. Nothing. It was as if without Vince Howard's world had lost it's magic.

He'd even tried going back to the cabin in the woods but there had been no yetis, no Kodiac Jack. In desperation he'd even gone to Black Lake, only to be told that Old Gregg was no more than a myth these days and hadn't been seen in those parts since the fateful night the Funk had been stolen from him. No one in the seaside pub seemed to remember Howard but they had spoken in hushed voices, full of awe, as they'd sipped their flirtinis and spoken of Vince Noir and how he had once graced their presence and showed them The Way. As far as Howard could see, The Way involved drinking Flirtinis, shaving off their beards, eating olives instead of poor, living naan breads and actually going out fishing rather than just talking about it.

It had been depressing. Without Vince there was no magic. No monsters either, but no magic. At least not in Howard's world.

With his morning routine finished and the shop open and ready for business Howard slumped behind the counter and tried to get in the mood for a jazz trance. No doubt Leroy would be by in a minute and shake him out of it, having never heeded the warning to never wake a man from a jazz trance (he'd only had to tell Vince once, but Leroy was infinitely slower on the up take than Vince), but he found that he couldn't really get into the swing of it, even with Charlie Mingus turned up full volume. Especially with that grating wailing sound coming from just outside.

Wait. Wailing sound?

Howard looked out of the front windows but there was no sign of an ambulance, or any emergency vehicle. The wailing, however, was definitely out there. He turned off Mingus and the sound swam to the front of his auditory awareness. It was definitely a wailing sound but it didn't sound like an ambulance, or even like bad electro, which had been his second thought. It sounded... sad.

With growing realisation, and a good dose of fear, Howard began to walk toward the door. He'd heard that sound before. Everyone had heard that sound before: in the supermarket on a busy Saturday, in crowded cafes, even in the library. But it was usually accompanied by the sound of shushing and cooing from a stressed and/or tired mother. It was the sound of a young child crying. It wasn't attention seeking crying either, or scraped knee crying. It was the heartbreaking wailing of abandonment.

As Howard came to this awareness he also came to the door and, upon opening it, was met with what he had feared. The child looked to be somewhere between the age of two and four. Howard wasn't sure, he'd never really liked children. That had been one of Vince's areas of expertise. He'd always told Howard off for scaring the nippers even though Howard maintained that it was the children who scared him. The child sitting on the cement in front of him was more than scary. It was terrifying. It had thick, sandy blonde hair with a slight curl to it and it's fringe hung down over it's eyes. Howard could only tell it was actually crying because of the round cheeks which were soaked in tears and so red they almost looked bruised. That and the noise.

The child, It, was wrapped in a cheap blanket, the kind people used for their dogs, to keep pet hair off the sofa and Howard mentally recoiled at the image. The child gave every appearance of being a stray.

Crouching down by the tiny, blonde shape, Howard tried to think of a way to be comforting without actually smiling. He'd been told enough times that his smile gave off a 'rapey' vibe and the last thing he wanted was for this kid to start crying louder. As he came down to the child's height he noticed something pinned to the blanket, which definitely had a smell of dogs about it. It was a note, attached with a safety pin. The kind that Vince had once carried with such pride, back in his short-lived punk phase. Carefully, trying not to spook the still wailing child, Howard unfastened the message and began to read.

By the time he had finished the note, which had been short and appallingly spelled, he felt nauseous. Without another thought he swept the child up into his arms and bundled it into the shop. Trying not to hold it too tightly while at the same time wanting to hug it as close as he could. It was a child, for goodness sake. Who in monkey hell would do this to a child?

Not even bothering to turn the sign to Closed, Howard sprinted up the stairs to the flat.

"Naboo!" he called, cursing himself when the child began to cry even harder.

"Sorry little one, sorry," he whispered, as he patted the little head, and was surprised when the crying died down to a melancholy sobbing. He sat down on the sofa and began rocking the little thing gently, stroking the blonde curls and murmuring comforting nothings until he heard Naboo enter the living area.

"Howard, you ballbag, what are you..." but his question died on his lips when he took in the sight before him. Howard thrust the crumpled note toward him, the safety pin still dangling from it. As Naboo read the brief lines he face began to darken. Howard had seen his landlord/employer/kind of friend angry on a number of occasions but never like this. Not even when he and Vince had inadvertently released Nannatoo. Right now Howard didn't doubt that Naboo was a shaman, he looked ready to unleash dark magic on the writer of the message he held in his shaking hand.

Looking back down at the note, Naboo began to read it aloud, as if doing so would make sense of the situation, or make it less horrifying than it actually was.

"Noir,

This is yors now. I done tride th hole mum thng but its like rubish innit? All it dose is cry an I wan my life bak so its yor turn. Don wory. It dont take up space, jus put it in a cornr wiv the blankt an feed it in a mornin.

Cheers."

Howard watched as Naboo began to pace around the small flat, his eyes looking everywhere but at the child in Howard's lap. Howard was suddenly aware that the tiny thing was almost completely silent now, aside from the occasional post-cry hiccup and it was with some pride that he realised that he had successfully calmed a child and sent them to sleep. And it hadn't been from boredom either.

"What are we going to do, Naboo?" he asked in a whisper, careful not to wake his sleeping charge.

Naboo stopped abruptly and flattened out the note he had been scrunching in his hand for the past minute. He looked first at Howard, then at the child, and then back to Howard again.

"There's only one thing we can do, really," he lisped in an equally quiet voice. "We have to call Vince."

"But," stammered Howard, suddenly jittery with nerves. "It isn't Tuesday yet."

Naboo just sighed and headed toward the phone. "Howard, you ballbag," he muttered. "He ain't going to mind us calling a day early. Not for something like this at any rate."

Howard sunk further into the sofa, stroking the silky curls beneath his hands and hating himself for the hopeful thought that this strange and disturbing turn of events might bring Vince back into his life, at least for a little while.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own the concept or the characters. I don't even own Gary Numan and that's properly depressing.

Vince was hung over. This wasn't unusual in and of itself. It was a Monday morning after all. Hangovers were what Mondays were for. As he struggled to find his way out of the mountain of blankets and duvets he'd wrapped himself in the night before he thought back to the time he had tried to explain the art of hangovers to Howard. His friend had stared at him blankly as he'd explained that he never woke up with a hangover on a Sunday because he never actually went to sleep on a Saturday. You can't wake up with a hangover if you're still partying, right? The crash always came on a Monday when the three days of partying would catch up with him but that was ok because he'd gotten away with only one day of misery in exchange for three nights of fun. And it was fun. He just had to keep reminding himself of that.

Howard had scowled and shaken his head, launching into some lecture on the affects of too much alcohol and too little sleep on something called the "immune system" but Vince hadn't listened. He never did when Howard went into geography teacher mode. How could he when Howard was in front of him with his moustache wiggling around like a fuzzy caterpillar. It was too cute.

Vince sat up suddenly, feeling very much like he was about to lose the contents of his stomach. He had not just thought of Howard's moustache as cute. Howard's moustache was a bovril stain, it was a cappuccino smear. It was funny. It was embarrassing. It wasn't cute. Nothing about Howard was cute.

With a groan Vince pulled himself out of bed and headed for the en suite, avoiding the mirrors that lined his bedroom walls. He hated seeing himself on a Monday morning with his hair all over the place and make-up smeared around his eyes. It reminded him too much of the time he'd agreed to dress up as a panda at the zoo. Back then he would have done just about anything Howard had asked of him. He'd had a serious case of hero worship which made him cringe to think back to but the panda incident had been cringeworthy for more than just that. He'd very nearly gotten off with that panda and while he knew he swung both ways, neither of those ways was toward animals. He was pretty sure that was a whole suitcase full of wrong.

Slouching into the shower and turning on the taps Vince yelped as the cold water hit his body but didn't bother to move. Cold water woke him up quicker than coffee, which just gave him the jitters, and he had to be in at work by three for a clothes fitting. He smiled as he thought about the forthcoming fitting and the fashion show at the end of the week. He wouldn't be just a model at this runway show, the designs were his own and every time he thought about it his chest swelled and felt like it was full of butterflies. He liked the idea of his chest being full of colourful and exotic butterflies. Much better than blood and muscles and organs but probably less practical too. Still, he liked the image and wondered if he could incorporate it into his next collection somehow.

It had taken over a year of subtle wheedling to get Jaquettie to even look at his sketches. The man was happy to have Vince as the face of his latest line in jumpsuits, his perfume, his hair products, but he wasn't too happy to have his "face" bother him with independent thought. Vince was just a face, he wasn't supposed to have a brain. Eventually, Jean Claude had seen the designs quite accidentally.

Vince had been sitting in a corner quietly sketching during a lunch break while filming the latest _Unicorn Tears_ commercial. He didn't bother to eat lunch anymore. He'd heard one too many jibes about not being able to fit into his costumes after eating mid shoot and how there were plenty more models out there to replace him. He didn't want to have to come crawling back to the Nabootique like Howard, after only two weeks away. Or like Naboo, who'd had to flee America after Bollo's drug fueled reenactment of King Kong's climb up the Empire State Building. He was determined to be a success and if going without lunch was the way to do it, then that was what he would do. He'd been interrupted by one of the make-up girls who'd been told to find him and deliver him to the head make-up artist to: "fix the problem with his chin." Vince had sighed, knowing that she would eventually throw up her hands in disgust when she realised there was nothing to be done about the "problem with his chin." It was just his chin.

He had left his sketch pad on the floor in his corner and when he had returned Jaquettie had been there, along with two of his assistants, oohing and aahing over his drawings. There had still been plenty of barbed remarks about his naive style and lack of intellect but they had been genuinely impressed by what he'd come up with.

Before he knew it he wasn't just the "Face" of Jean Claude Jaquettie, he was one of his design team and fast on the way to being an independent and successful designer in his own right.

Vince was shaken from his memories by the piercing sound of Gary Numan. His phone was vibrating on his bedside table and he quickly shut off the water, jumped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He unintentionally caught sight of himself in a mirror and let out a squawk at his appearance. The drowned rat look was well out of fashion and his hair was in serious need of some loving but it'd have to wait for a little while. He wrapped it quickly in another towel and rushed back into his bedroom, trying not to slip as he reached for the phone. There were only two numbers in his phone programmed to play Gary Numan's _Cars_ these days. The flat, and Howard. And since it wasn't Tuesday, he could only assume it was something more important than the weekly recount of how many jazz albums Howard had nearly but not sold and how many trendies had dropped by the shop to ask about him.

With fingers that may or may not have been shaking a little with anticipation, Vince pressed the green button and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Howard?"


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Have been uploading this kinda quick but figure I might as well. This writing lark is kind of fun but I don't know if anyone's reading. Except the computer pixies, obviously. They read everything.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or ideas. I'm just using them to play and learn.

Vince was in shock. At least that's what he could hear Howard telling him down the phone. He'd been trying to calm Vince down for a good ten minutes but Vince was still sitting hunched over on his bed, shaking like a leaf and whimpering occasionally as his poor brain attempted to process what Naboo had told him so bluntly down the line.

_"Vince. We have a child here. It's yours. You need to come home. Now."_

He couldn't. He knew it sounded terrible. It made him feel sick to even think that he could be that shallow, but he just couldn't go back there. He'd worked so hard and was so close to finally making it big in the world. As hard as things were here it was better than being a nobody. He couldn't just chuck it all in and go back to the Nabootique. He'd never live down the shame.

Initially he'd barely registered the first part of what Naboo had said, he'd been so overwhelmed at being told, no ordered, to come home that his brain had just about shut down. It was only now, listening to Howard being all soothing and caring, that he was finally starting to understand why he was being told to pack up his life and return to Dalston.

He had a child.

He'd never really thought about being a parent before. He'd thought about protection to ensure it didn't happen, obviously, he wasn't a complete idiot, but he'd never considered actually having a kid of his own. In the same way that he'd never considered getting married and settling down. In the same way that he'd never thought twice about the kiss on the rooftop at Howard's party (Well, he might have thought about that incident once or twice but he'd never analyzed it. Well...).

Vince shook his head, trying to clear the wayward thoughts as he focused on what Naboo and Howard were trying to tell him. He had a kid.

It wasn't actually that shocking, was it? Really? With the number of girls he'd had lining up to be with him, it was really kind of inevitable that eventually one of them would get pregnant. Except that, well, despite the boasting and his obvious popularity, and the long line of girls and guys who would happily jump into his bed, Vince hadn't actually slept with that many people. He'd kissed plenty. Kissing was genius. But when it came down to it, Vince didn't like to hurry into bed with just anyone. He had standards, despite what some tall Northerners might think.

But what did it really matter that he had a child? Why did that mean he had to drop everything and come home?

Vince straightened his back and interrupted Howard's soothing murmurs.

"Does she want money then?"

His voice came out harsher than he was expecting but he didn't really care. Howard just spluttered down the line.

"If she wants money, whoever she is, tell her to get stuffed. If she wants she can write to my lawyer but I'll be asking for a DNA test, at her expense, before I even consider a pay-out."

There was silence save for Vince's own stilted breaths until Howard finally found his voice. His question was not the one Vince was expecting.

"You-you've got a lawyer?"

Vince rolled his eyes. "'Course I have, you muppet. I'm not that stupid."

"I know you're not," Howard appeased. "I've been working with Leroy for a year, trust me, I know what an idiot looks like. It's just..."

He trailed off and Vince couldn't help but smile a little. The thought of Howard and Leroy working together five days a week was just too funny. The two men had never really gotten on which confused Vince, because Leroy really wasn't an idiot. He was smarter than Vince by a long shot. Howard and Leroy just couldn't seem to get along. It was almost as if they viewed each other as rivals, though rivals for what, Vince had no idea.

"It's just what?" he asked, coyly, smiling at his friend's awkwardness.

"It's just... when did you get so hard?"

The smile fell from Vince's lips, replaced by a stony expression.

"Hard?"

"Yeah. Talking about the child as if it isn't really alive. Like her." Howard's tone was accusatory and Vince felt his anger did Howard have to put him down all the time?

"I've only known about the kid for ten minutes! I don't even know if it's a boy or a girl for Christ's sake!" Howard was silent but Vince couldn't stop the words spilling from his mouth. "I've had to be hard, Howard. I'm in a cut throat business, yeah? This isn't Jazz club, or some art wank film, here. Showing weakness is as bad as putting on an extra kilo. It's suicide. How do I even know this isn't some sort of twisted joke? What did she say to you?"

In the silence that followed Vince tried to get his breathing and his temper back under control but Howard's confusion made it almost impossible.

"What did who say?"

"The woman," Vince replied through clenched teeth. "The _mother_. What story did she spin you?"

"Oh." Howard's voice was soft again, and sounded thick, as if he was trying not to cry, which was just absurd. "She didn't say anything to me, Vince. She... I haven't met her. We don't know who she is. The child, it... the child was left in front of the shop this morning. Wailing and crying with a note pinned to it's blanket."

Vince could hear Howard attempting to calm down and could picture the tears building up in the tiny brown eyes. He suddenly felt very cold, sitting on his bed in nothing but a towel. He stood stiffly and began to pace around the room, his movements twitchy and uneven. He felt like a puppet trying to walk with its strings tangled and he could feel the headache building behind his eyes.

His child had been abandoned, dumped at a shop he hadn't worked at for two years. His child.

"What's- what's it's name?"

Howard sighed. "We don't know, Vince. It wasn't in the note. Sorry."

Vince swallowed, working hard to not lose control. "Well, is it a boy or a girl, then?"

He could hear his voice getting shrill but he couldn't stop it.

"I'm sorry, Vince," Howard murmured. "We don't know that either. The child was wrapped in a blanket and crying when I found it. I managed to rock it to sleep but, it's hard to tell if it's a boy or a girl. I can never tell with kids under five anyway."

"How old does- does m-my child look? What does he...she look like?" Vince felt the shakes coming back and began to pace more quickly. He could practically feel Howard's sympathy through the phone.

"I'd say between two and four years old. Thick, blonde hair with a bit of curl to it. Round cheeks but quite skinny overall. One hell of a set of lungs, too." There was a small chuckle from Howard that made Vince smile. Howard sounded half in love with the kid already and he liked the idea of Howard rocking a child, his child, to sleep and stopping their tears. Howard had done it for him more than once when he was little.

He'd had a mop of blonde hair as a boy, it could be his child. But there was still doubt wriggling like eels in his belly.

"But how can we know it's mine, Howard?"

Howard let out a heavy sigh followed by a sharp inhale. "Woops."

"Woops? Howard, what's woops?" Vince asked, trying not to give in to his nerves and his throbbing head.

He could hear shuffling and Howard speaking softly to someone, his child most likely. The words 'my child', even in his head, sounded frightening and strange but Vince fought down the panic.

"Howard?"

"I think the little one's waking up, Vince. I-" Howard gasped and Vince wished he could climb through the phone and back to the tiny flat in Dalston. Even if it did cost him his career. He hated not knowing what was happening.

"Howard?"

"This is definitely your child, Vince. I mean... wow."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I think I'm actually starting to get the hang of this, but a review would be lovely all the same.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Howard could only stare, open mouthed, as the tiny child blinked up at him, struggling to make sense of its surroundings through its sleep muddled brain.

"Don't worry little one, I'm here now," he whispered. "My name's Howard. You're safe here."

Those eyes blinked up at him again and Howard felt the air being pulled from his lungs with such force he actually felt dizzy. Those eyes. Giant and clear and blue and achingly familiar. He fumbled for the phone.

"This is definitely your child, Vince. I mean... wow."

He let the phone fall from his hand again as the tiny lip began to tremble.

"It's alright little one," he murmured. "I'm here to look after you. Do you understand?"

The tiny child nodded and Howard nodded back. Good, they were communicating, getting somewhere. No matter what else happened, Howard knew, even if Vince couldn't accept fatherhood, he would look after this child.

He noticed Naboo, shuffling from foot to foot, looking lost in his own home, and had a thought. Turning to the child he gave a little child didn't smile back but didn't burst into tears either, which Howard took as a good sign.

"You know what? I'm quite hungry. I fancy something to eat." He took a deep breath, hoping silently that this plan would work.

"Are you hungry, too? Would you like something to eat?"

The giant blue eyes widened, Howard wasn't even sure how it was possible, until they seemed to fill half the tiny, round cheeked face. It looked like a bush baby, which made Howard smile again. Our little bush baby, he thought. Our boosh baby.

As no answer seemed to be forthcoming Howard turned to Naboo who almost lost his turban, he jumped so violently when Howard said his name.

"Naboo, do you think you could make us some cheese toasties? We're starved."

Recovering himself, Naboo nodded, gave Howard a grateful look, and headed into the kitchen area to prepare the food. This way he could still hear what was being said without it seeming like he was just standing around, listening in.

Turning back to the child, Howard wondered where he should start. What was most important? How could he ask the questions that needed asking without scaring the kid and causing more tears? He had no previous experience in this field but he was a man of action, so he kept telling people, and he felt that that required him to at least make an effort.

Looking into those eyes though, Howard realised that he wasn't entirely without experience after all. Those eyes, blue and wide and a bit wild, they were a mirror image of Vince's eyes when they'd met all those years ago. Back then he'd simply gone with what felt natural. It seemed like good advice.

"So," he said, trying not to seem intimidating. "My name's Howard. What's yours?"

The blue eyes wavered for a minute before Howard saw the lips move to form what may have been a name. His forehead creased and, for once, the thought of crows-feet and wrinkles didn't even cross Howard's mind.

"What was that, sweetheart?" he asked as gently as he could. He could see the tiny body starting to shake beneath the cheap blanket.

"I's Blanche," came a tiny, croaky voice.

Howard gave a reassuring nod. "Thank you, Blanche," he said, trying to appear calm whilst his brain pelted along at a hundred miles a second.

Blanche was a girl's name, as far as he was aware, which at least gave them an answer to the question of gender. But something was bothering him about the name. It was french, wasn't it? They'd studied French at school, he and Vince, but he'd never been any good at it. Vince had been surprisingly profficient, at least when it came yo learning to speak the language. He'd struggled enough with reading and writing English so had never been able to read French but he'd learnt the language none the less, which was coming handy now, living in Paris and socialising with the French elite. He'd know what a name like Blanche was supposed to mean. Maybe it was a clue as to where the girl had come from.

Thinking of Vince made Howard realise that he could hear Vince's voice and he remembered the phone he'd dropped on to the sofa when Blanche had woken. Vince's faint voice could be heard yelling down the line, calling his name.

At that moment Naboo approached with two plates of cheese toasties. He handed one to Howard and one to Blanche who looked at the food with an expression of wonder before attacking it like a half-starved puppy which, in a sense, she was.

With the little girl completely absorbed in her meal, Howard retrieved the phone and held it up, immediately regretting doing so when Vince yelled in his ear.

"Howard! Howard!"

"I'm here, Vince, you don't have to yell."

"Sorry," Vince sounded a little hoarse and Howard felt a little bad. The poor man had obviously been yelling for some time, desperately trying to get Howard's attention.

"Sorry, Howard but, did I hear right? Is her name Blanche? Cos if it is, well, I think I know who the mum might be."

Howard was a little surprised at this. How could Vince narrow down the possibilities so quickly.

"How can you tell, Vince? Just from Blanche's name? Was that the mother's name too?"

Vince's voice suddenly sounded very small through the phone and Howard could feel himself getting anxious.

"No," he whispered. "Her name's Madeline. She- she was a punk girl, back when I was just getting into the scene." Vince took a shuddery breath, remembering that not-so-pleasant episode of their lives. Howard frowned at the memory as well. It hadn't been pleasant for anyone, except for Lester, maybe.

"She was well rough," Vince continued in a voice almost devoid of emotion. "But she seemed kind of nice at first. Was well impressed when I told her that her name was French, like my name, and that I could talk French at her. Laughed when I said Noir means black. Said I was about as black as a snowflake, and as hard as one too." He laughed then, but there was no humour in it and it made Howard feel uncomfortable. It didn't sound like his Vince at all.

"She showed me 'round, took me to a heaving punk club and bought me a ton of drinks. She told me she could get me into a band, did get me into a band. But... she wanted something in return."

Howard heard Vince shudder but at first he didn't understand what his friend was implying.

"I don't-" He frowned in confusion.

"Oh, Jeez, Howard!" Vince cried, his voice going so high it cracked. "She promised to get me in the band if I... if I got off with her."

The silence that followed the confession was so oppressive that for a few moments Howard didn't think he could draw breath.

"Do you mean...?"

"Yeah, Howard. Sex. That's the normal way babies get started, ain't it? Even you know that, surely."

The bitterness in Vince's voice was almost physically painful and cut Howard deeply. There was no savlon for the mind and Vince had always had a talent for hurting his best mate. But, despite the pain the insult caused him, Howard got the feeling that saying all of this aloud was hurting Vince a lot more than him.

"I'm sorry, Howard," came a voice that sounded ridiculously young to be coming from a fully grown man. "I know you think I'm a right slag who'll get off with anyone but I, I don't, I'd never... never like that, and it..."

Vince's voice petered out and Howard felt swamped by the emotions that seemed to be pouring through the phone receiver. He thought about Vince's behaviour in the days leading up to his gig with the punk band. How volatile he'd been, how keen to pick a fight, how easily he'd caved to the peer pressure and bullying of his band mates. How vulnerable and unsure of himself he'd been in the weeks after the incident.

He didn't know what to say. The conversation had drifted into territory he just didn't know how to deal with and he needed to find something safe to distract Vince as well as himself.

He looked at the tiny girl-child next to him on the sofa. She had finished her own toasties and was eyeing his hungrily. He quickly slid them onto her plate and she pounced on them.

"So Blanche is a French name, then?"

It seemed a redundant question really but he needed to do something to stop the sound of Vince's uneven breathing in his ear.

"Yeah, it is," Vince answered. "And if she's my daughter, which I'm guessing she is, then her name is her mother's idea of a joke."

Howard frowned.

"A joke? How so?"

"It means White, Howard."

He was still a little confused until finally the pieces slotted into place.

"So her name is, um, Blanche Noir, then?'

Vince gave another little, humorless laugh which ended in a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

"Yeah. Her name's Blanche Noir. White Black. Weak joke, huh? But more than I would have expected from that woman. She had less brain cells than me and I've only got one! Maybe she had help. Still, I bet she knew it'd annoy me. Oh God, I'm a dad!"

The last sentence was said with a squeak that Mickey Mouse would have been jealous of and made Howard smile. Maybe there was hope for this little family yet. Perhaps there was hope for him and Vince...

"Vince, you have to come home. You can see that now, can't you? Your daughter needs you." I need you.

The silence lasted so long that Howard began to worry that the call had dropped out before Vince finally spoke again.

"But I can't, Howard."

The anger exploded inside of Howard. He had truly thought that knowing he had a child might make Vince take a little responsibility, grow up a bit, but no. He was as selfish and vain as ever.

"How can you say that?" he asked through clenched teeth, trying to contain his rage so as not to frighten Blanche.

"How can modeling be more important than this?"

"It's not that, Howard, and anyway-"

"Save it, Vince. Save your excuses for your shallow, glittery-"

"Howard, shut up!"

Vince didn't really shout that often, not in anger, and so the outburst caught Howard off guard but as he mentally regrouped he thought he could hear Vince grinning through the phone. It was a smile that could be felt all the way from Paris.

"I can't leave right now, Howard, it's complicated," he told him in a much calmer voice. "But there's no reason you guys can't come to me now is there?"

Howard was stunned and before he could stutter a reply Vince continued.

"I'll get my PA to organise it today and give you call. Her names's Ami, she's great, she'll sort everything. I have to go now, Howard. My hair needs serious attention, but I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"Um, yeah," Howard nodded.

"Oh, and Howard?" Vince asked, his voice sounding warmer than he had heard it in a long time. "Take good care of my daughter, alright? And tell her that her daddy can't wait to meet her?"


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Vince tried his best not to fidget. it was hard. His brain was moving so fast and his body wanted to join in. He'd never been any good at standing still but had become an expert at appearing still and untouchable while on the job. His persona here was of ice and isolation. He was Vince Noir, the Lonely Angel, and nothing melted his mask. That was the story anyway.

He'd learnt a lot in his two years as a model and standing still while having a fitting had been one of the first lessons. Being jabbed by pins wasn't pleasant. Now it was second nature. Except for today.

"Ow!" he squawked and received a glare from the young man adjusting the leg seam on one of Vince's own creations. Being glared at by someone with a mouth full of pins was quite unnerving and made Vince think of some of the monsters he'd faced when he lived with Howard. He never met monsters anymore, which he supposed was a good thing. He just hoped that the same could be said for Howard, who could never manage to look after himself and would just stand there sobbing and begging "please don't kill me, I've got so much to give!" Vince suppressed a chuckle at the memory but received another dark look from the man wielding the pins so tried to stand still.

He hoped the monsters were leaving Howard alone, especially now. Now that Howard was looking after his daughter.

His daughter.

It sent a shiver down Vince's spine but he managed to stop it before he got another jab in the leg. He was desperate to see her, to hold her, get to know her, to love her. He'd never thought he'd fall in love with anyone, especially someone he hadn't even met yet, but he knew that he was falling in love with Blanche, his daughter, even though his only information about her had come from over the phone from an emotionally charged Howard.

The thought of Howard holding Blanche in his lap while she slept brought a tiny smile to his face. His best mate and his little girl. His little family and, if his PA, Ami, had done her job properly, that little family would be on their way to him right now. He'd told her to pull out all the stops: a car to take them to St Pancras' International, tickets for the Eurostar, and a car waiting for them on their arrival in Paris. They would get in at seven in the evening, which worried Vince a little. He'd most likely still be here at the studio, working out the final details for the show, proving to Jean Claude, and all of the design team, that he really could do this. That he wasn't just a beach ball: empty inside with a pretty exterior. This was what he wanted after all. But he also wanted, desperately, was to be there are the station when Howard arrived with Blanche. To run up to them and hug them and kiss them both.

No, wait. Kiss Blanche, hug Howard. Yeah, that's what he wanted to do. He wanted to be there, anyway, to bring them back to his apartment and spend a lazy evening catching up with his best mate and getting to know his daughter. He wouldn't get to do that, he knew, but he'd make it up to them somehow. He just needed a plan.

As the ornate double doors at the far end of the studio clattered open Vince let his smile drop and schooled his features into a blank but beautiful mask. It was his model face and it was the expression which had got him the Jaquettie contract in the first place. It was his signature. It didn't do for Vince Noir to show emotion.

"Noir!" Jaquettie spread his arms wide and strode toward Vince like an indulgent uncle. He began to speak to Vince in French and Vince nodded along, translating in his head.

"I have been dying to see this particular creation. It is magnificent. A work of art! Even on you."

His entourage nodded and murmured agreement and Vince thought his cold mask might just melt with the praise. Genuine compliments were quite rare in this industry and he had always craved praise and adoration. It was more important to him than food but a lot harder to come by these days.

"It is just so bright," Jaquettie continued, circling around Vince under the wrapped attention of his underlings. "So colourful and full of sunshine, yes?" They all nodded again but Vince was starting to feel uncomfortable. This little performance was leading somewhere, he could feel it, and he'd known the designer long enough to know that he was often his most complimentary before dealing his most cutting insults.

"Yes, so full of sunshine, your designs, Noir. But that is the problem, isn't it?"

Vince tried not to furrow his brow in confusion. Wrinkles were the last thing he needed.

"Is it?"

"Yes, Noir. You are my ice maiden. My cold and mysterious demigod. The perfect face for _Unicorn Tears_. But the face of sunshine? Vince Noir? I don't think so."

Vince was stunned. What was Jaquettie getting at? These were his designs. His, what was the word Howard had used? They were his intellectual property. Jaquettie couldn't just take his designs and claim them for his own, could he?

His mind went, against his will, back to the time he had thought he was going to become an actual, recognised author, only to have Bainbridge try to claim credit for his Charlie Books. Charlie had sorted that problem out well enough but the horrible feeling he'd experienced when he realised he'd been taken for a fool, used and cast aside, that feeling had nearly made him sick. He couldn't let it happen again, couldn't be humiliated and cast aside, not when he'd worked this hard.

"They're my designs. Jean Claude," he told the man in a quiet but certain voice. He wouldn't show his fear to these people.

"But of course, Noir, of course they are yours and everyone will know that they are but I think perhaps you should not wear them. Give this one to another model to wear."

"But-"

"Noir, you have the makings of an excellent designer but your persona and your creations, they are incongruous. They do not suit you. You must see that, surely?"

Vince looked down at the shimmering outfit he had on. He'd based it on his adventure in the Jungle Room all those years ago. There was the red and yellow of the fire that had tried to listen in on their conversation with Tommy and grey fur (Fake of course. Vince could talk to animals, there was no way he'd actually wear their fur or skin.) for the mod wolves they'd met. It was a work of beauty, even for those who had no idea of its significance. And it was the memories that made it important to Vince, that made him want to be the one to wear it. He pulled himself out of his thoughts, aware that Jaquettie was still speaking.

"You'll make it in this business eventually, Noir, with designs like this, but right now you are just a face, an image. There's nothing behind the face. You have no past, no controversy. Even when you party you do not get into fights. You are not seen in the tabloids with young women, or men, in compromising positions. You are stunning Noir, but you are boring. You have no adventure about you, no sunshine. Until you do, you will be just a face who makes some pretty clothes."  
The words stung. All the more so because they were delivered with false sympathy and heard by no less than twenty people. Vince could feel a blush rising in his cheeks. He felt humiliated. Worse than that, he felt like he was a complete stranger to these people he had worked with for two years. They didn't know that he had once been known as the sunshine kid. They had no clue of his many adventures. He'd been too thorough in his deception and now it was coming back to ruin him. It wasn't fair and suddenly he'd had enough.

"I'm wearing this outfit, Jaquettie," he said, trying not to betray his emotions. The other man smiled, actually let out a short laugh.

"Finally some colour in your face, Noir. It's the first I've seen, I think. The ice, it was getting a little old."

There was a titter from the little crowd that surrounded them which stung Vince as if he'd been struck by a whip. He fought down the urge to stamp his foot, he would not have his anger passed off as a diva fit. He would maintain his dignity and he would win.

"I'm wearing this outfit, Jean Claude, and I'm leaving now. Don't think that you know me. You don't."

Vince took a moment to study Jaquettie's face. The man was furious and Vince knew that he was crossing a dangerous line. Jaquettie could ruin him but he was just too tired of the bullying to care right now.  
He turned and walked as calmly as he was able to the back of the studio where his street clothes were folded neatly behind a curtain. He dressed quickly, careful to arrange the nearly-finished fire suit on its hanger, before reemerging. Jaquettie was still there. Everyone was still there, waiting to see what would happen next, enjoying the show and not thinking how much their presence was hurting him.

"Where are you going, Noir?" Jaquettie asked, a sneer now entering his voice.

"Going home to your empty apartment, to sulk? Perhaps you have no sunshine because you have no one to warm your bed."

The laughter was louder this time. Vince knew the rumors about him. Most people in Paris thought he was frigid, or just too damn picky. He'd never brought a date to an event. Had never left a party with someone on his arm. He was Vince Noir, the lonely angel. They didn't know the half of it.

"No," he said, sounding a lot stronger than he felt. "No, Jean Claude. I'm not going home to an empty apartment."

Here he smiled, reveling in the awe on the faces of people who had rarely seen the full force of a Vince Noir smile.

"Then where are you going?"

"I'm going to see my daughter."

He took a moment to enjoy the bug-eyed look of shock on Jaquettie's face at that statement before turning on his heel and sweeping out of the room.

God that had felt good!

And he still had time to make it down to the Eurostar for that hug.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: This chapter's a bit longer, I think. I blame it on Howard thinking too much.

Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, or their words or the concept or this laptop.

Howard felt nauseous. It made him squirm in his seat and he knew that to anyone who might glance his way he probably looked vaguely constipated. Bolting to the toilet wouldn't help dispel that impression but he truly felt like his breakfast was trying to commando crawl up his oesophagus and the worst part was that his reasons for feeling like he was about to wretch were, for the most part, horribly embarrassing.

His first worry was that he was going to be arrested at any moment for kidnapping, or at least for traveling with a child who wasn't his. Vince, in his excitement, had simply ordered the tickets and it was barely hours later that an expensive black car had parked in front of the Nabootique, ready to whisk them away to the station. He'd hurriedly thrown some clothes and necessities into a bag but had stopped short when he took in Blanche's appearance.

She was still wrapped in her blanket, clinging to it and trembling slightly. She had no other clothes and looked in desperate need of a wash. It couldn't be helped, he knew, but surely it would cause unwelcome looks on the Eurostar and what about paperwork? Blanche, as far as he knew, didn't have any, not even a birth certificate. What would happen if he was asked to show proof that he was related to the child?

Just as Howard was starting to panic, his fingers itching to give himself a chinese burn, Naboo had appeared from his room with a large envelope which he handed to Howard.

"Stop panicking, you idiot. Take this."

"What's in it?" Howard asked warily. He'd had too much experience with Naboo's strange collection of spells and potions to simply take something that the shaman offered anymore.

"It's her paperwork, you ballbag," Naboo lisped.

Howard looked confused.

"How did you get this?"

"I'm a shaman, ain't I? I magiced them up." Naboo rolled his eyes and went to sit beside Blanche who, ever so slightly, shuffled closer to him on the sofa. Even in a few short hours she had begun to trust them and seek affection from them. Just like her daddy, Howard thought, only to be jolted from his happy thought by the sound of a car horn down stairs.

"You best be going, then," Naboo said, patting Blanche on the head and giving Howard a look that said that if anything happened to the little girl his life would not be worth living.

"Aren't you coming too?" Howard suddenly panicked. He was rubbish with children and suddenly he was about to take a rather long train journey with one that he barely knew.

"Course, not," Naboo replied. "This is your adventure, Howard. Besides, someone has to stay behind and keep an eye on Leroy. I don't trust him not to accidentally sell the register instead of the stock."

Howard gave a chuckle, picked up his bag and held out his hand to Blanche who, after a moment, stood and shuffled over to place her tiny, cold fingers in his large, warm ones. She looked up and gave him a little smile and suddenly Howard was full of confidence. This little person needed him. If he couldn't be a man of action for himself he could certainly do it for her.

"Right then, little lady. Ready to go and meet your daddy?"

From their seats on the train Howard glanced down at the small sleeping form of Blanche. Whenever he felt the fear creeping back up he would look at her and feel brave again, at least for a little while. He patted the paperwork, stowed safely in his jacket's inner pocket. He was tired but he knew there was no point in trying to sleep. There was only twenty minutes left in the journey and he had been informed by Vince's PA (What was her name? Ami? She'd sounded familiar) that a car would meet them and take them to Vince's apartment. He'd sleep there. He'd also been informed that Vince would not be able to be there to meet them, but would be at work until well into the evening. Howard had been disappointed to learn this but had been impressed too. Vince at work, who would have thought it.

Seeing Vince again was the other thing that worried him. They hadn't actually spent any time together since the play. Vince had been to London several times since but there hadn't been the chance to catch up properly. Howard thought that maybe Vince was embarrassed to be seen with such an unfashionable friend as him. It wouldn't be the first time and now Vince had a lot more to lose from socialising with a fashion Don't.

He worried too that things would be awkward between them. Vince's revelation about Blanche's conception had been uncomfortable for both of them and he worried that that conversation would be hanging over them while he was here.

How long would Vince even want him around?

Would he expect them just to be staying for a short visit? Would he expect Howard to return to Dalson, and Blanche with him?

Or would Vince expect Howard to leave on his own? For Blanche to stay in Paris, to be raised by a forgetful and self-obsessed father and, most likely, a nanny?

It didn't bare thinking about but Howard knew he had to. It was always his lot to think about the deeper questions, to try and plan out what they would actually have to do. If things were left up to Vince the planning would be done in the form of a drawing of a pink pony in cowboy boots.

His breakfast was trying to crawl out of his stomach again and Howard was glad that he hadn't eaten lunch. He wondered what he'd do about Blanche's dinner. It was painfully obvious that the child was malnourished and hadn't been fed properly during her short life. After finishing the two cheese toasties she'd very nearly thrown them back up, her little tummy being unused to so much food all at once. Perhaps Vince's PA would be able to help them out. He doubted there'd be much in Vince's kitchen. The man couldn't cook and probably went out for every meal.

It was a wonder that anyone could remain thin enough to be a model in Paris, surrounded by so much delicious, and rich, food. Vince had, to Howard's trained eye, looked slightly less waif-like when he'd joined Howard for the play. Almost like he'd put on a kilo or two. It had made Howard happy, to see the man looking like a proper adult. He'd always worried when Vince had been going through his skinny phases. He's taken the GI diet to the extreme and Howard used to constantly worry about his friend's health. He'd worried so much when Vince had left for Paris, that with the distractions and excitement Vince would just forget to eat altogether.

With a gentle shudder the train pulled in to the station and the announcement sounded that all passengers were free to alight the train and enjoy their stay in Paris. Howard waited until most of the other travelers had gone before standing up and stretching his tired limbs. Blanche was still asleep so, after shouldering his bag, Howard leant down and scooped her up into his arms. His back gave a little twinge of protest but he ignored it. He'd spent most of the day carrying the little girl, or so it seemed, and he just wasn't used to carrying even her small weight around.

As they left the train Blanche snuggled further into his chest and Howard grinned. She really did remind him of a little puppy, so loving and affectionate and trusting. He couldn't comprehend how someone could treat her with distain or anything short of undying love. He hoped Vince would feel the same. He hoped Vince would love her. He hoped Vince would...

The station was crowded, overflowing with the sound of voices raised in welcome and excitement and the clatter of feet and suitcases on tiles. Being surrounded by so many people made Howard nervous. He didn't really like people. He didn't know what they wanted, why they always had to be there, staring, judging, getting into his space. Crowds like this made him panic but the warm little bundle in his arms held all of that at bay. He wasn't allowed to panic, not when Blanche was relying on him.

Taking a deep breath, Howard began to move in the direction of the exit, hoping that he'd be able to spot Vince's car once he go out there.

Suddenly someone pushed into him, murmuring a hurried apology as they rushed past. Howard turned, stumbling, and lost his bearings. Where had he been heading? Where was the exit? Why was everything suddenly moving so fast? And why was someone calling his name?

"Howard! Howard!"

He turned in the crowd but couldn't see who was calling him. He moved clumsily toward the voice which seemed to be getting louder very quickly.

"Howard!"

Suddenly there was something new pressed up against him. A flutter of pale blue feathers, silky black hair and a flash of porcelain skin was all the warning he got before he was enveloped in a tight hug that sent him reeling.

"Vince?"

It came out as a splutter and he tried to pull back, just to make sure it was his friend and not some nut-job looking for free hugs at the Eurostar. The eyes that met his took his breath away. He'd seen Vince's eyes too many times to count and, for a while they had lost their power over him. But it had been so long, and the day had been so full of emotion that seeing those eyes, big and blue and seeming to be full of the same maelstrom of emotions in his own head, left Howard unable to move, let alone speak properly.

"what are you doing here?"

Something flickered in those magnificent eyes but Howard couldn't guess at what it was. He tried to take in the man before him but it was difficult. Vince was still pressed up against him, or, more correctly, pressed up against Blanche, who still hadn't woken up.

"I came to meet you, Howard," Vince somehow managed to make his whisper heard over the noise of the station.

"But-"

"I missed you, Howard. And-"

He looked down at the bundle in Howard's arms and bit his lip.

"I really wanted to, you know, meet _her_."

He looked up at Howard through those long, black lashes and Howard felt his heart melt like warm marmite.

"She's asleep, I'm afraid."

"That's ok, probably for the best. I s'pect this place might be a little frightening for a nipper like her."

Vince hid his eyes behind his fringe.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Howard replied. Things were definitely edging into awkwardness and he had no idea of how to steer them back out of it.

"So..." He tried desperately to think of something to say.

"So..." Vince copied coyly. "Shall we, shall we go home?"

Howard nodded. He couldn't speak, his mouth was suddenly drier than the desert of nightmares but Vince didn't seem to mind. He nodded in reply and, for some strange reason, looked shy. That couldn't be right, Howard thought. Vince wasn't the shy sort. He must be misreading his friend's expressions, out of practice from their long time apart.

He was just convincing himself that he'd been wrong when he felt Vince shuffle against him and, before he had time to process the movement, felt soft, dry lips brush against his cheek. It was over so quickly, and the press of the lips so soft, that Howard almost thought he'd imagined it and looked up in time to see Vince pressing a similarly chaste kiss to Blanche's sandy blonde hair. It was all too much. He could deal with Vince being rude, selfish, immature, silly, awkward. But Vince being sweet... it was just too much.

"Howard, your eyes!"

Vince's own eyes looked like they were about to take over his face, and he was looking at Howard with an expression that Howard didn't want to even try to comprehend.

"What's wrong with my eyes?" He asked, hoping to be told they were the cold sly eyes of a shrew or a turkey.

"They're all, well, big... Um..."

"Um..."

"My car's out front."

"Right."

"Shall we... go?"

"Yeah. Let's."

Vince nodded, turned and began to walk toward the exit. Howard, bemused, confused and just downright tired followed, trying not to think about how easy it was to fall back into the pattern of following Vince.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: This chapter's a bit short. I think it's cos Vince doesn't like to think too much.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mighty Boosh characters or concepts. I don't even own matching socks.

"This is your home?"

Vince tried to determine if there was any trace of sarcasm or scorn in Howard's question and found that he couldn't tell. He had always been rubbish at knowing if someone was taking the piss but he'd learnt to scan statements to see whether they were genuine compliments or jokes at his expense. It was only Howard he couldn't tell with these days. Or maybe Howard wasn't having a go. But then, if that was the case, why did he ask the question?

Vince hated thinking. It gave him wrinkles and made his head hurt. It was like having a hangover but without the fun stuff beforehand.

"Yes," he said slowly. "This is the living room. The bedrooms are through there. Kitchen and dining rooms are just down the hall. Walk in any direction and you'll hit a bathroom eventually. There's three of them."

"Wow."

"Does that mean you like it?"

Howard nodded and Vince felt his chest flutter with pride. He'd put a lot of thought into this apartment. After spending so much time in opulent hotel suites Vince wanted his own home to be somewhere a bit simpler and homier. He wanted it to reflect his tastes but, as he'd decided on colour schemes and furniture he realised that there was another personality being reflected here too. Beige was a nice colour for walls after all. The paintings on the walls (a mixture of his own works and things he had picked up on street corners and in small galleries) were mostly of animals except for a large one above the television which was a vibrant oil painting depicting a jazz band in full swing. He'd found it in an old antique store near Montmarte which had reminded him so strongly of the Nabootique he'd nearly swooned.

Howard was looking at it now, a faint smile peaking out from beneath his moustache. He looked good, Vince thought, but tired too. He was still holding Blanche and it must have been doing his back in but he hadn't complained.

Blanche had woken briefly on the car ride between the station and Vince's apartment but hadn't been up to much in the way of introductions. She'd cried herself awake for a start, which had alarmed Vince. It had brought back too many memories. Howard had whispered soothing words to her and Vince had shaken himself out of his fear as the deep, Northern voice worked its magic on him too. He'd leant in and kissed her head again and stroked her hair. It was thick and the same sandy blonde his had been at about that age. It was a bit knotty and needed a good wash but that was ok. He whispered to her that she was safe, that daddy was here. She looked at him for one moment, her blue eyes pulling him in until he thought he was drowning. She'd blinked slowly, smiled drowsily (which sent Vince's heart rocketing into his throat), and then snuggled back into Howard and back to sleep.

Vince hadn't been able to speak for the rest of the journey. Any doubt that this was his child (and there hadn't been much doubt anyway) had evaporated when he'd seen her eyes. It wasn't just that they were the same shape and colour as his. What settled the issue for him, and scared the pants off him too, was the shadow of hurt he'd seen in those eyes. He knew that hurt, he'd seen it more than once when looking in the mirror as a child.

Vince Noir wasn't just in love with Blanche, he felt a desperate need to protect her too. It was a strange feeling but it wasn't a bad one. Was this how it felt to be a dad?

Right then Howard was the one doing the dad duties and Vince hurriedly led him to his own bedroom.

"Just put her down here, Howard," he said, trying to flatten out his overflowing bed.

"Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure. In the middle, yeah, so she doesn't roll off in her sleep or anything."

Howard hadn't moved to put the child down so Vince pointed to the middle of his bed in the hope that Howard would get the message.

"But, Vince, she's wrapped in a, well, a dog blanket. It's not particularly clean."

Vince scowling in confusion.

"So?"

"Well, aren't you worried about your bed?"

Vince looked at Howard. The man genuinely thought that he cared more about his sheets than his daughter. Did Howard really think so little of him? Was he that shallow?

"It's fine, Howard, they're only sheets. I can always buy more."

Now he really did sound that shallow. He fought down the urge to say anything more and settled for chewing on a thumbnail as he watched Howard lay the child down in the nest of pillows and blankets. She murmured once but Howard patted her back to sleep and she let out a contented little sigh.

Vince looked down at his feet. It was a strangely intimate moment and it made him feel useless. He'd had a growing conviction all day that he wanted to make a go of the whole parenting thing but... what if he was no good at it? He was barely an adult really, standing there all pigeon toed in an outfit that, to Howard, probably looked like it was pulled from a dress ups box by a colour blind chimp. He wanted this to work so much, but he wanted his life here in Paris too. If he screwed up the dad thing he'd lose Howard as well. If he then screwed up the modeling and designing on top of that... he'd have nothing.

He didn't notice Howard move around the bed to stand beside him, so the hand on his shoulder made him jump. He tried to hide behind his modeling mask but he'd never been much good at hiding himself from Howard. Instead of the cool indifference he would have given anybody else he found himself looking up at Howard with a grin that showed both his embarrassment at jumping at his touch and, he hoped, his genuine pleasure at being with him. The grin widened when he heard Howard's stomach grumble loudly beneath its aggressive-nutmeg coloured vest.

"Shall we go and get you some dinner, Buffalo Man?"

"Do you even have any food in your kitchen?"

Vince chuckled. It was a fair question considering he'd used to live on sweets and bananas, but he hoped he could pleasantly surprise his old friend.

"Why don't you come and find out?" he teased a little flirtatiously as he headed for the door. Howard gave a chuckle of his own in response as he followed him out of the door and Vince suddenly got the distinct impression that Howard was watching his bum as he walked. He was doing his model walk, he knew, but he just couldn't help himself. Seeing Howard was giving him an adrenaline rush and he was desperate to prove to him that he was a success, that he could take care of himself. Could take care of Blanche. Could even take care of Howard if, you know, he wanted to.

Vince tried to shut down the pesky thoughts that were suddenly filling his brain space. They were confusing and bringing on yet another headache.

It had been a very long, very unusual day.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: Thank you to my lovely reviewers! I think this is my favourite chapter so far.

Disclaimer: I love them but I don't own them. I've been sat in a tree outside their house, watching and waiting. No, not really. I just love them.

It took until the moment he started following Vince from the bedroom to the kitchen for Howard to realise what had been bothering him about Vince's appearance.

He'd lost weight again.

He began to wonder whether there _would_ be any food in the kitchen, or whether the whole space would just be wall to wall malt loaf in a desperate attempt by Vince to satisfy his sweet tooth while keeping to a low calorie diet. It must have been very low calorie for Vince to have dropped that much weight in a year. During their, if he was honest, rubbish attempt at serious theatre, Vince had looked a little more filled out than he'd used to. He hadn't looked overweight, far from it, but he'd looked like he was eating three times a day and that had made Howard happy. Now he looked like he was eating three meals a week.

As they neared the kitchen Howard watched Vince's swaying hips and how even the extremely skinny drainpipes he was wearing didn't look that tight. They still looked good. Vince's bum always looked good, but...

Howard gave himself a mental shake. Vince was his friend and he was pretty sure that friends did not check out friends' backsides on the sly. He was at least fifty per cent sure anyway. He didn't have that many friends. But Vince was definitely too skinny, nice bum or not and he made a mental note to ask Vince about his eating habits. A mental note that he temporarily forgot when he entered Vince's kitchen.

It was the sort of space that enthusiastic home chefs drooled over, and Howard caught himself checking his chin just in case he was in fact drooling. Gleaming work surfaces with a fruit bowl centre piece overflowing with apples and bananas, a state of the art cooktop, separate burner specifically for the wok. His eyes were especially drawn to the chrome fronted, double door fridge, that was until Vince sashayed past it and sat himself up on the countertop.

"So, Howard, what d'you want for tea?"

Howard looked at Vince suspiciously.

"Do you ever use this kitchen?" he asked.

"What? Why?"

"Because it's too clean," replied Howard, pointing out the obvious. "The last time you tried to make pancakes back at the flat I had to scrape batter out of the light fittings."

Vince gave a short laugh at the memory and Howard's lips twitched upwards despite himself.

"In fact, this whole place is too tidy," he carried on, really starting to enjoy himself and knowing from the sparkle in Vince's eyes that he was too.

"What's your game sonny Jim, me lad? Is this place even yours? Or is it just some random apartment you've stolen the keys to? Well?"

Vince was starting to giggle now and Howard couldn't stop himself. He loved being silly with Vince. Talking like this was like verbal tickling and neither of them had indulged in it for a very long time.

"I don't pick pockets, thank you," retorted Vince, ramping up his cockney accent. "I'm like Fagan. The Fagan of Paris they call me. I've got an army of grubby street urchins to do my pick pocketing for me."

"Is that so?" Howard was starting to giggle now too.

"It certainly is, my boy. And I'll train Blanche up to be my successor. Heiress to a pick pocketing empire, she'll be. The envy of every girl in Paris."

"With her stolen jewels and horse drawn carriage nicked from the impound yard."

"And her rat valets, always ready to hand her a handkerchief."

"There were always so many handkerchiefs weren't there, in those Oliver movies? Why did the kids steal so many handkerchiefs?"

"They were sewing themselves ball gowns for the annual thieves ball."

"What, even the boys?"

"Especially the boys. You're not allowed entry unless you're in a full ball gown."

"Is that so?"

"Yep. You'd have no chance, Howard. It's impossible to get you into a decent frock. God knows I've tried. The closest you ever got was that Nanna dress you wore to bingo night."

"Hey, I looked good in that dress, it showed off my northern pins."

"Maybe, but you couldn't wear it to a ball, could you? You'd look well underdressed next to all them urchins in their homemade hanky gowns."

The lighthearted banter continued for some minutes before Howard's growling stomach interrupted them and sent them into a fresh fit of giggles. When they finally got their breath back Howard started to worry that it would get awkward again but Vince fluffed his hair and licked the corner of his lip in a way that let Howard know that he was comfortable and enjoying himself so he decided to be a man of action and strode purposely toward the fridge.

He'd been prepared for empty shelves graced only by a few jars of condiments, maybe a small block of cheese, and a few moldy carrots. It was a shock to be confronted with copious amounts of lettuce and green vegetables. There were also jars of olives and tins of stuffed vine leaves, a few gourmet dips, and bottles of sparkling mineral water. He searched in vain for meat, eggs, cheese, anything he could use to make a proper meal, but at least had to concede that what was in the fridge was healthy.

He looked up at Vince who was now looking very pointedly in the other direction.

"Vince?"

"Hmm?"

There was definitely something wrong, Howard could tell. Vince was avoiding his eye but he couldn't quite see what was so embarrassing about having a fridge full of healthy, fresh produce. He decided to try the only sure fire way to shake Vince out of a bad mood.

"Do you have a pet rabbit?"

Vince turned to look at him, his face the very picture of puzzlement until he caught Howard's eye. He grinned and Howard returned wasn't great at talking about the things that mattered, Howard was even worse at it if truth be told, but he knew that the best way to relieve them both of the pain of proper conversation was with a good bout of silliness.

"No," said Vince slowly, shaking his head so his silky hair whipped around his face. "I keep that stuff around for when that giant rabbit drops by. He's got one hell of an appetite, you know."

Howard chuckled and watched as Vince jumped down from the counter and strode over to stand next to him at the open fridge. They were so close, almost touching, and Howard felt the urge to pull Vince into a hug. The 'don't touch me' rule had never really worked with Vince anyway and over the last two years Howard had found himself rethinking the whole no touching rule system. He still didn't like being touched by other people but he had started to think that maybe there should be a Vince clause, which stated that people named Vince Noir were allowed to ignore the 'don't touch me' rule if they asked for a hug the proper manly way. He didn't actually know what the proper manly way to ask for a hug was and Vince never did anything in the proper manly way as far as his memory could tell, but he was sure they could come to some sort of arrangement.

Vince actually looked like he might need a hug. He looked like he'd blow away in a strong wind, Howard thought, but he just didn't know how to start a hug. How did one go about initiating physical contact with another human being? Did it require eye contact? Did you make an appointment? He didn't know the rules. He suspected that Vince knew the rules but didn't care and flouted them in defiance of human niceties but Howard didn't really like breaking rules. Not really. Unless it was jazz.

"Um..."

Vince was standing so close that Howard could hear the um as a vibration through their bodies.

"I'd usually just have a salad," VInce confessed and the urge to put his arm around his friend doubled until Howard's fingers began to itch. "But I can make you a stir fry if you like? I'm genius at those! Would you like stir fry, Howard?"

Vince was suddenly excited and lunged in to grab his ingredients without waiting for Howard to reply. He set up his ingredients and, as Howard watched, proceeded to slice and grate the vegetables, create a sauce and heat the wok. The whole thing took less than ten minutes to make and when he presented Howard with a delicate bowl of stir fried veg and rice noodles Howard was genuinely impressed. He took his bowl and looked around for somewhere to sit.

"Shall we go to the dinning room, or...?"

"Nah, it's way too posh for this. Let's just sit on the sofa, yeah?"

"Lead on, little man," Howard gestured grandly and Vince just about skipped back to the lounge room and plonked himself in the corner of one of his large sofas.

They ate dinner in companionable near silence and when they were done Vince even took their bowls out to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two mugs of hot tea which he placed on to the low coffee table. Howard was impressed at this mastery of domesticity but a little frightened too.

"What's happened to you, Vince?" Vince looked up in something akin to alarm.

"What d'you mean?"

"You cooked a delicious meal. You tidied up after yourself. You made tea. Are you really Vince? Or has an obsessive-compulsive monkey stolen your face?"

Vince relaxed and shook his head.

"Nah, nothing like that. I've got a cleaner who comes in three times a week. She gets well stroppy if there's dirty dishes around the place or clothes on the floor."

"I used to nag you constantly to put your clothes in the hamper," Howard sighed. "You never did it for me."

He caught a slight grimace cross Vince's face but it was quickly replaced by a sly grin.

"You never threatened me with a feather duster, though, did you?"

"Was that my mistake?"

"Yep. You nagged. She went at me with some sort of microfibre monster. I was scared she was going cover my outfit in dust. I have to do as she says."

"And if she told you to eat more?"

Howard hadn't meant to come out with it like that and he regretted it immediately as Vince's face clouded over and was replaced by a cold, expressionless mask.

It took Howard's breath away. It was the face of Jaquettie's ad campaign, cold and beautiful. It was breathtaking in a poster or in a tv commercial but in real life it was beyond description. He looked stunning and yet, at the same time, that beauty was frightening. It wasn't his Vince.

It also worried him how easily that mask seemed to fall into place. How often did Vince hide behind that icy beauty these days? And why had the mention of his eating habits brought about the dramatic change?

"I eat enough, Howard."

The voice was icy to match his face and it made Howard shiver.

"I just meant-"

"You saw me eat. I made you dinner for Christ's sake."

"I know, I-"

"Are you and my cleaner seriously in cahoots with each other? Going to gang up on me, threaten me with cleaning products until I agree to get fat again?"

"You've never been fat, Vince."

"Shut up, Howard."

"Has your cleaner seriously had a go at you for not eating enough?"

Vince scowled again and nodded. Howard hated him looking so put out but he was also relieved to see the icy facade crumble to reveal something more recognisably Vince. It also told him that he wasn't alone in his concerns. Other people had noticed the weight loss too. But if the obviously terrifying cleaning lady couldn't bully Vince into eating then he must be under a lot of pressure to stay thin. Howard had a sudden desire to have a strong word with Jean Claude Jaquettie but doubted Vince would ever let him near his fashionable friends and colleagues. Still, he could always try.

Glancing over at Vince, he saw the younger man's eyes begin to droop. It wasn't that late at night but seeing how tired Vince seemed to be reminded Howard of his own desire for sleep. Perhaps they could continue this discussion tomorrow. They hadn't really talked about Blanche at all. It seemed that Vince wanted to get to know her before he started making real plans and Howard supposed that was alright. There were a few pressing issues though.

"Ah, Vince?" he asked tremulously. "What are you up to tomorrow?"

"Um," Vince bit his lip and looked nervous. "I thought that I might take the day off. Everything's about sorted for Friday and I don't really want to go in after- I don't really want to go in tomorrow. I thought I could spend the day with you and Blanche?"

It was phrased as a question and Vince looked up at Howard through his fringe as if worried that Howard might actually deny him the chance to spend the day with his friend and his daughter.

"Of course, Vince," he reassured him. "That sounds good actually because, well, I didn't pack much and Blanche has no other clothes. And she'll need a bath too. I thought we could maybe, that is if you're happy to, and only if you want to, maybe we could, go shopping?"

Vince's eyes widened to the size of tea cups.

"You're asking to go shopping with me?!"

"Um, yes?"

There was a sudden flurry of movement and then, for the second time that evening Howard felt Vince crash into him in a fierce hug.

"I never thought I'd hear you ask to go shopping with me. To actually want to go shopping with me! And not just for hammocks or corks or food or stuff like that. Oh, thanks Howard!"

Howard didn't know what to say. He'd always assumed that Vince would rather be seen on a bad hair day than out shopping with him. Obviously he'd been wrong. He wrapped his arms around Vince's skinny frame. The hug felt good, even if he was a little worried that a proper, tight hug might break Vince into a hundred pieces.

"It's my pleasure, little man. I'll even let you pick an outfit for me if you like."

From somewhere in the vicinity of his chest he heard a squeal and the hug got even tighter. Obviously that had been the right thing to say and, even if he was a little worried that he'd end up in some sort of sequined catsuit, he thought it might just be a fair price to pay for some more cuddles and smiles from Vince. He really had missed him an awful lot. Possibly more than he'd realised.

Vince finally pulled out of the hug. Not completely, just enough for Howard to hear what he was saying and his head was still comfortably nestled against Howard's shoulder when he began to speak, or think out loud, at least.

"Blanche'll probably need something clean to actually go out shopping in, I reckon. I'll text Ami, get her to send something round in the morning. And I doubt she'll want to go anywhere too busy or noisy so we'll stick to the little boutiques. They're better anyway. More exclusive. More expensive too but how often do you get to pick out a whole wardrobe for your daughter, yeah? It'll be genius. She'll probably need a little sleepy after that, too. She seems to need a lot of it. Kids do, huh? She's slept for hours already. Hope it doesn't mean she'll be up at four a.m., bouncing on my head. I'll have to get in some food that kids like too. Obviously. Kids aren't really into salad, are they? But she can't live off sweets neither. You taught me that, Howard. You was always on at me about not living off raspberry bootlaces and flying saucers. And what about nappies, or diapers or whatever? Is she toilet trained, Howard? Howard?"

Howard was trying desperately to keep up with Vince's thoughts and was genuinely impressed at how mature he sounded. Vince was thinking about his daughter's needs in a calm and clear way. He'd always known that Vince was the one who was good with kids but hadn't expected him to think about nap times and toileting and such.

"Howard? Howard? Howard? Have you gone into a jazz trance or something? Did you hear any of what I said?"

"I heard you, Vince. Don't get your pants in a knot. Yes, she's toilet trained. She asked to go when we were on the Eurostar in fact."

"Good. That makes life a bit easier then. She'll need to go again when she wakes up though. And she'll be hungry. We should get something ready for her so that she doesn't have to wait. Being hungry's horrible when you're a kid."

"I thought you said you didn't have any kid friendly food here?" Howard asked.

"I don't really," Vince shrugged. "But I've got some crackers and fruit and that. Will that do for tonight, do you think?"

"Yeah, that'll do just fine," Howard reassured and was rewarded by Vince relaxing back against him. Vince felt a bit pointy, all bones and joints, but still warm, still nice. He smelt nice too.

He'd quite happily stay like this for the rest of the night.

"Um, Vince?" he asked quietly. He was rewarded with a contented hum. Vince was definitely tired too.

"Vince, what're we going to do about sleeping arrangements?"

"Oh."

The silence stretched between them and eventually Vince sat himself up and moved back to his corner of the sofa.

"Vince?"

"Well, I thought, that Blanche could stay where she is, at least for tonight. So she isn't disturbed. And I kinda want to be there if she wakes up in the night and I want to be there when she wakes up in the morning cos morning faces are well cute and I want to see hers. But..."

"But?"

"But she doesn't know me, does she? She only knows you. So if she wakes up in the night and is scared she's going to want you, isn't she? Not me. So..."

Howard thought that he knew where Vince might be headed with all of this but he decided not to push and let Vince come out with it himself.

"So?"

"So, I thought that maybe you could sleep in my room too?" Vince's voice was so quiet Howard had to strain to actually hear him and the look that Vince gave him seemed to be prepared for rejection. But before he could respond Vince started talking again, gradually getting faster and faster but not much louder.

"It's a huge bed, we'd be no where near each other. And we'd sleep on either side of Blanche, obviously, so that she wouldn't fall out if she had a nightmare or anything. And we could fetch all the blankets and pillows from the spare bedroom so we wouldn't have to worry about sharing or anything. It could even be fun, like back at the zoo."

Howard let the words sink in before carefully making eye contact with Vince. He hated making eye contact most of the time but knew enough about Vince to know that it was a sure way to help him calm down and to reassure him that he was alright, that they were alright. He was a lot like his daughter, really.

"That sounds like an excellent idea, Vince. Shall we go and get the blankets now? It's been a long day after all. We could both use a good night's sleep."

Vince let out a breath that he'd been holding and got to his feet, stretching out his thin arms above his head. They padded down the hall together to collect the blankets and pillows and then into Vince's bedroom where Blanche was still sleeping soundly. They grinned at the sight of the little girl with her head of thick, messy blonde hair and then, as Vince began to strip off his clothes in preparation for sleep, Howard retreated to the bathroom to change into his pajamas.

When the usual evening rituals of teeth brushing and, in VInce's case, make-up removal, were complete and a midnight snack had been fetched for whenever Blanche decided to wake up, they snuggled down into the big bed and Howard heard Vince give a contented sigh.

"G'night, Howard. I'm so glad you're here."

"Good night,Vince. Sleep well."

Vince made the happy humming noise again and within minutes Howard heard him start to make the adorable not-snoring noises he had gotten so used to when they'd shared the keepers hut at the zoo. It wasn't long before he felt himself drifting off to sleep and, as he did, he realised that he agreed with Vince. He was glad to be there too.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Another chapter. Bit of a warning: This chapter hints at domestic violence and has a bit of blood in it. Hope it's ok.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mighty Boosh. Sadly.

Vince was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming but that knowledge didn't help. He couldn't get out and knew he would have to go through the whole nightmare before his subconscious released him.

He was back at the shelter, trying to hide behind his dirty blonde fringe and clinging desperately to the one toy his mother had let him bring. It was a rag doll, one literally sewed together from scraps of bright and shimmering fabrics. His mother had made it for him out of pieces of old costumes. She'd been a dancer once and Vince loved to listen to her talk of the bright lights, bands, music, colour and dance steps and, through it all, the sequins and tulle of the costumes she had loved so much.

Costumes which her husband had set alight while she'd been forced to watch. Vince had watched too, sobbing in distress as the beauty and the magic of his mother's world was consumed by the angry licks of the flames. He'd chanced a look at his father, face red and bloated from drink. His eyes had reflected the flames and to Vince, at only four years old, the flames had seemed to be coming from inside his skull. Vince hated his father, a hatred only equaled by his love for his mother. The monster had wanted to break her, they both knew it but, in the aftermath of the destruction, she had gathered the scraps and made Vince his first doll.

And now here they were, in the shelter with its strange smell and looming social workers and volunteers. His mother sat beside him, clutching her cardigan around her thin frame, her whole body shaking. The beating had been particularly brutal this time and they had barely made it here.

"Vince, sweetie," she whispered to him and he turned to look up into her blue eyes, so full of pain and yet so beautiful.

"Yes, mummy?"

"Whatever happens, darling, know that you are special. Know that I love you with all that I am. I wish I could have given you a better, a better-" she let out a sharp gasp.

"Mummy?"

Vince was shaking now too. The part of him that was the child in the dream was scared and confused but the part of him that knew this was a dream felt sick with impending dread, knowing what was to come, but powerless to do anything to change the outcome.

"I love you, Vince."

"I love you too, mummy."

She was shaking so hard now that she seemed to be blurred, out of focus, and the tears building in Vince's eyes didn't help. He felt like he was losing her, like she was disappearing right in front of him. She was.

"Never lose the magic, darling. Never lose the colour or the costumes or the magic, Vince. Never stop dancing, my love."

With a pained moan she fell from the rickety plastic chair onto the hard linoleum floor. Vince clutched at her arms, her cardigan, her waist, but his hands had come away wet. Wet and sticky and red.

She was gone before the workers at the shelter could even call for an ambulance and Vince had sat with her, letting the blood, which had gone unnoticed by anyone until it was too late, seep into his clothes and skin and soul.

Vince fought against the dream but even as he woke he could still feel the hot wetness against his skin. Suddenly his eyes snapped open. He was awake now but the wetness remained. He leapt out of the bed with a strangled yelp which turned into a gag as the smell of urine hit his nostrils.

The movement woke Blanche who began to cry. It was a pitiful noise and she seemed to be mumbling a litany of sorries as she realised she'd wet the bed. She looked fearfully around her and, upon seeing Vince had begun to cringe away, the sorries coming out as choked sobs. Vince felt terrible that his reaction had made her feel this way and without another thought he climbed back onto the soaked sheets and wrapped her in his arms. She flinched a little at the contact but then relaxed into him.

"It's alright, darling," Vince murmured as he brought her into his lap. "It was an accident is all. Just an accident. Daddy's here, and I'm not mad."

"I'm sorry."

Her voice was so tiny that Vince nearly missed it and the thought of his daughter thinking she had to apologise for something she had no control over made something in his heart clench.

"It's not your fault, sweetie. It's ok."

"But... you was mad."

"No," he shook his head, pressing his cheek into her hair. "No, I thought for a minute that it might have been me, is all. I'm not mad."

He was unprepared for her giggle. It sounded like the tinkle of little, glass bells, all light and magic.

"Grown-ups don't wet the bed," she whispered and he giggled along with her.

"Everybody wets the bed at some point," he told her and she twisted around in his lap to look up at him.

"You got my eyes," she told him slowly. He nodded. "I like you. You really my daddy?"

Vince nodded, unable to speak. His throat had tightened painfully at her words. She liked him. She had only just met him, knew nothing about him except whatever her mother had fed her, but she had decided that she liked him. It felt like a dream, but a good one this time.

"I'm your daddy all right," he choked out through dry lips. "And I like you too. I love you, darling. I love you."

He pulled her back into a tight hug so she wouldn't see his tears, worried that she wouldn't understand.

After a long moment he remembered the state of the bed and their clothes and shuffled over to the edge of the bed, still clutching his little Blanche to his chest. He carried her to the en suite and she began to giggle again, louder this time, as Vince staggered about. He put her down on the tiles and stayed kneeling before her.

"I think a bath is in order for you, Miss Blanche. What do you reckon?"

She scrunched her nose up but he reached over to the tub and grabbed a bottle of bubble bath, waving it in front of her enticingly.

"Glitter bubble bath," he sung at her, grinning slyly. "The latest thing from Jean Claude Jaquettie."

She scrunched her nose again and giggled.

"Who's Jean Cad Jack Tea?" She asked.

It was Vince's turn to giggle and he leant over to turn the taps on the tub before turning back to answer her.

"He's my boss, I suppose."

"Oh. Do you work 'n a soap fact'ry then?"

Vince let out a loud bark of laughter which made Blanche jump. He pulled her into another cuddle and laughed until she joined in.

"Nah, not a soap factory, though that'd be a genius place to work I reckon," he said, waggling his eye brows at her. "Just imagine all the bubbles, yeah? And making glitter soap would be... um..." He tried to think of a descriptive word that wasn't genius.

"Genius?" Blanche offered and Vince could barely contain his grin.

"Yeah. Genius."

Together they poured in the bubble bath, probably more than they needed, and Vince remembered to check the water to make sure it wasn't too hot. He felt proud at how well he was doing with this whole dad thing so far.

He got a little nervous when it came to undressing the tiny girl but got it over it fast enough when he realised just how thin she was under the cheap and, frankly, filthy track suit. As soon as this bath was finished, he told himself, he would get her a proper breakfast. He was sure there was something in his enormous pantry that he could feed her. Did little girls like malt loaf?

Vince lifted Blanche into the tub, enjoying her squeals as the bubbles tickled her skin. He stripped off his own clothes quickly and stepped into the shower, thankful that the bath, and Blanche were facing the opposite direction. He had possibly the fastest shower he'd ever had, scrubbing his skin clean, rushing his hair regime and wrapping a towel around his waist before emerging from the shower alcove.

Blanche was still happily splashing away in the tub and humming under her breath. She had a pretty voice, Vince noticed, and was humming in tune. Surely that wasn't common among three-year-olds, was it? Maybe he had a musical genius on his hands. That'd be well cool, he thought. She'd be a star and he could design her costumes. Shaking his head at himself, Vince gathered up their wet clothes and dumped them in the hamper.

"I'll just go and get you something clean to wear, yeah?"

"Yup," she replied, looking up at him with a broad grin and a glittery bubble beard. He shot her an almost identical grin and crept back into the still dark bedroom.

The bedside clock read five a.m. but the thick curtains ensured that none of the predawn light had filtered in. Vince leaned over the bed. Howard was, somehow, still asleep and as Vince watched, the other man murmured something in his sleep. He looked so peaceful, so beautiful, when he was asleep and Vince missed the nights he had crept into his friend's room to go at him with his comb and scissors. Life had been simpler and more complicated all at once back then.

He watched Howard sleep for another minute, not wanting to disturb him but desperate to strip the bed of it's wet sheets. The bed was big enough that Howard's side was actually completely dry but Vince decided that he couldn't leave the bedding any longer. It was starting to really smell. He moved back around to his side of the bed and began to tug the sheet out. Howard rolled over a few times but somehow managed to stay asleep even when Vince had the bed almost completely stripped. He left Howard his blanket, it wasn't wet and there was actually something nice about being all domestic and independent while Howard slept. Maybe when he woke up he'd be proud of how well Vince had coped with the situation. Maybe.

He threw the wet bedding into the laundry and went back to find something for Blanche to wear. He threw on his old green, lightening bolts t-shirt and a pair of boxers and dug around until he found his old pink t-shirt from his zooniverse days. It had shrunk and faded in the wash but he hadn't been able to bring himself to get rid of it. It might just fit Blanche as a dress, with a few alterations of course.

Blanche approved of the shirt and even agreed to let him wash her hair, sighing and relaxing against him as he massaged her little head and gently ran his fingers through the tangles until it was sleek and shiny and, most importantly, clean.

The bubbles were almost completely gone by the time Vince lifted her out of the water and toweled her down, making sure to tickle her ribs as he did so, just so he could hear her laugh again. The t-shirt hung down to her toes but Vince used some ribbon to tie a sash around the middle and turned it into a kind of dress. Blanche twirled around in it until Vince remembered to warn her not to slip on the tiles. Together they'd tip toed through the bedroom, grabbed the snacks Vince had set out the night before, and giggled past the _still_ sleeping Howard, out into the lounge room. Vince turned on some cartoons (Blanche hadn't seemed to mind that they were all in French, she'd just stared at the bright pictures as if she'd never seen cartoons before. Vince wondered if she really hadn't), sat them down on the sofa and pulled a throw rug over them. He'd hugged his daughter tight and, as the sun began to shine through the large, bay windows, they both fallen into a calm and dreamless doze.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Another chapter. Thanks for the reviews, I do hope this is going ok. It seems to be coming out quite quickly. Slow week at work in the basement.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Boosh. I've got their DVDs and book but that's it.

Howard's first thoughts upon waking were something along the lines of: 'Help! Help! I'm being eaten by a duvet monster! Don't kill me, I've got so much to give!' Only slightly less coherent.

When he recovered and realised where he was he then started panicking about the fact that neither Blanche nor Vince was asleep beside him. He was alone. And where had the sheets gone?

Yesterday had been... strange. He'd gone from feeling hurt and lonely in a dusty junk shop in Dalston to emotionally overloaded in a giant bed in Paris with his best friend and his best friend's daughter. Who they'd only met that morning. It was enough to do any man of action's head in and part of him wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. The other part of his brain, however, needed to know where Blanche and Vince were. Had they left without him in the night? Abandoning him once more just when he thought things were going to turn out alright? No, Vince wouldn't run away from his own apartment. If he was going to abandon Howard he'd do it by kicking him out and never speaking to him again.

The thought made Howard shudder and he pushed it away. He couldn't let that happen.

Perhaps, he thought, Blanche had woken Vince up and he had taken her to get some breakfast. That made more sense, but still didn't explain the lack of bed sheets. Unless...

The faint smell of ammonia still lingered around the mattress and Howard frowned, realising what must have happened. How had Vince coped? How had he removed the sheets without waking him? And, most importantly, where were the pair now?

Knowing that he wasn't going to find anything out if he stayed in bed, Howard pulled himself up and stumbled across to the door. The clock by the bed told him it was just gone seven in the morning. Vince was not an early riser. They couldn't have gone far.

He crept down the quiet hallway toward the lounge area and heard the sound a squeaky voice speaking French and the sort of mindless music that he associated with Vince's favourite cartoons. Sure enough, when he entered the room the television was on, showing a bizarre cartoon of a cat being chased by a cockroach of all things, but it took him a moment longer to find Vince and Blanche.

They were tucked up on the sofa together, wrapped in a stylish throw and looking like a pair of angels. Blanche's hair was clean, he noticed, and looked like spun gold while Vince's was a ripple of midnight. They were both wearing t-shirts he knew well and he felt a pang in his chest at the memories those simple items of clothing held, and the fact that Vince had kept them, despite the fact that they probably weren't fashionable enough to wear out of doors.

Howard reached into his pocket and pulled out his camera phone, glad for once that Vince had insisted on such a fancy piece of technology for him. He snapped a photo (or two or three) of the sleeping pair and then tip toed out of the room, leaving the Noirs to their beauty sleep.

He discovered the sodden bedding in the laundry and piled it into the needlessly fancy washing machine and then went to shower, discovering that Vince's building was fancy enough that running the washer did not in fact impact on his hot water supply in the bathroom. That certainly made a change. He was fairly sure that Bollo actually waited until he was in the shower to turn on the washer back home. The ape just liked to hear him yelp whenever the water's temperature or pressure changed.

He took his time showering and dressing in the only outfit he'd had time to pack. He had thought that the clothes he'd thrown into the bag had been random but the trousers were a pair he liked because Vince had never insulted them and his blazer was one that Vince had actually complemented. Well, he'd said the cord was chunky and that it felt good to touch.

Back in the lounge room there were still two sleeping Noirs and Howard wondered how much of the night they'd spent awake. He headed into the kitchen, eventually finding a beaten up packet of instant pancake mix at the back of the pantry. It only required he add water and while he was sure it wouldn't be as good as the real thing he hoped it would entice both Blanche and Vince to emerge and eat enough to make their bones less prominent under their skin.

Sure enough, by the time the second pancake was beginning to sizzle he could hear two sets of bare feat thundering across the floorboards and a giggle that sounded like glitter.

He knew it was a ridiculous thing to liken a laugh to but the sound just reminded him of glitter, all light and colour and magic. It was the most wonderful laugh he'd ever heard.

Howard turned in time to see two stunning faces peek around the doorway. If anyone else tried that move it would look ridiculous, absurd. When Vince and Blanche did it, it was adorable.

"Howard? Howard? Howard. Howard!"

"H'ward?"

Howard jumped, coming out of his revery at the sound of Blanche saying his name.

"Yes, love?"

Vince gave a wicked grin.

"Pancake's burning. Love."

Howard span back to the fry pan and flipped the pancake awkwardly, feeling like it was his cheeks that were burning instead of the food. He heard Blanche's tinkling laugh again but it only made his blush worse. Vince had always been a flirt, pressing up against him, stripping his clothes off without a thought, dancing like a member of Destiny's Child and looking up at Howard through his long lashes when he wanted something he couldn't get for himself. Howard had never let it get to him. Not like this.

He tried to compose himself but didn't get a chance because all at once he was surrounded by arms, Vince's around his waist and Blanche's around his leg. They were both giggling now and Howard fought not to let the words out.

"Don't-"

He stopped himself just in time. He didn't want them to not touch him at all. He couldn't imagine telling little Blanche not to touch him. That would be like kicking a puppy made of candy floss. It just shouldn't be done.

"Don't what, Howard?" Vince purred in his ear.

"Don' wha, H'ward?" Blanche echoed and Howard started to chuckle despite himself.

"Don't... burn yourselves on the stove top?"

Vince gave a little laugh and let go. He picked up his daughter and placed her up on the counter top before bouncing up to sit next to her. They began to swing their legs in unison and sent identical cheeky grins in Howard's direction. He turned his attention back to the task of making breakfast, pouring out a third pancake and putting the first two on to separate small plates.

To think that twelve hours ago he'd been worried that Vince wouldn't be able deal with having a child in his life, or that Blanche would be afraid of her father. The two were like extensions of one another and seemed to share the quirks of personality and mannerism that made it obvious that they were related, if their almost-identical features weren't enough evidence of that fact. Thankfully Blanche's nose was small and delicate, though. Vince's beak, while full of character, would probably not have suited her.

They were perfect for each other and Howard began to worry again that they wouldn't need him at all.

Perhaps there was still something he could do.

"I hope you're hungry, you two," he said as he handed them each a plate, watching carefully for a reaction. He wasn't disappointed. Blanche's face was priceless. Her giant baby blues wide in delight at the sight of what was likely her first ever pancake. Vince's face, on the other hand, had gone pale. His eyes were just as wide as his daughter's but there was no delight. If anything he looked scared. Why in the name of the king of Xooberon was Vince afraid of a pancake?

"Wow, Howard," Vince stuttered. "That's... um..."

"Genius?" Blanche prompted innocently.

"Yeah," Vince squeaked. "Genius."

Howard pushed the plate into Vince's hands and folded his arms, ready to watch him eat the whole thing when his plan was suddenly and annoyingly interrupted by the shrill chime of the door bell.

"I'll get it!"

Vince just about ran from the room, thrusting the plate with the uneaten pancake back at Howard as he disappeared in a blur of black hair and green t-shirt.

"Just remember you're not wearing any trousers!" Howard called after him. "You remember what happened the last time you opened a door in only your pants? I don't want a repeat of the Leg Looter Incident, do you?"

He heard Vince give a short laugh as he ran back past the door trying to pull up a pair of electric blue drainpipes. It was echoed by a muffled laugh from Blanche who, Howard realised, had finished her own pancake and was halfway through Vince's.

Howard sighed.

At least one of them was eating.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: I don't know how Jaquettie turned into this character. Every story needs a villain, right?

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or concepts.

Vince didn't know quite what had come over him. He hadn't really meant to flirt with Howard like that, he just couldn't help himself. Blanche had wanted to hug Howard and he'd wanted to hug Howard so they'd just gone for it. And Howard being awkward seemed to make Blanche laugh so he'd ramped up the flirting, knowing it would make Howard blush and stammer which would result in Blanche giggles. Blanche giggles were the best. That was the only reason he'd done it. He was almost sure of that. Except he wasn't.

Trying to think while pulling up ridiculously tight jeans was more than his brain could handle and he stumbled, banging his knee into the wall by the front door.

"Ah, fuck!"

"Language!" Howard called from the kitchen and Vince blushed, despite the fact that no one could see him. He didn't swear that much but he'd really have to watch his language now he was a daddy. It wouldn't do for Blanche to start shooting her mouth off. He hoped her mother hadn't taught her any filthy language. He wished he'd known he had a daughter before yesterday. But for the first time ever, he didn't regret that night four years ago in the toilets of the punk club.

Anyway, no point in wishing for stuff he couldn't have, not when there was a door to be opened and all.

"Alright?" Vince said as he opened the door, expecting to see Ami's ever-smiling, bespectacled face.

She was there but she wasn't smiling and Vince soon saw why. It was possibly the last person he wanted to see in the whole of Paris right now. He tried desperately to put on his usual cold mask, the one he'd worn every day of his modeling career, but something had changed in the last twenty-four hours. His emotions had been allowed back to the front of his consciousness and he couldn't seem to hide them. Howard was back in his life and he'd brought an angel with him and Vince felt more alive than he had in over a year.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Jaquettie just sneered and pushed his way past Vince and into the apartment. Vince fumed and darted around to block his way, placing his hands on the walls to stop the man getting any further into his home.

"Are you having a breakdown, Noir? I've never known you to wear such an unfashionable shirt."

Vince took a deep breath. The man was trying to rile him. He'd gotten good at it. Needling Vince until the cracks showed in his persona, only to remind him that without that mask, that "face," he was nothing.

"I asked you what you're doing here, Jean Claude," he said as calmly as he could.

"He followed me up, sir. I'm so sorry," Ami squeaked and Vince gave her a nod. He knew it wasn't her fault. Ami was an excellent personal assistant but she was rubbish at standing up to people.

He turned his attention back to Jaquettie, who was stalking toward him with a predatory look. He wasn't a big man but he still managed to be hugely intimidating and it took Vince all his nerve to stand his ground.

"Your little announcement yesterday has the fashion world in a bit of an uproar, Noir," he purred. "Everyone wants to know if the rumour is true. Whether Vince Noir really has been tempted by a woman. They want to see your love child, Noir. And so do I."

Vince forced the cold mask on his face. Of course Jaquettie wanted to come and snoop. He was the biggest gossip in Paris and was no doubt the one who had spread the word that Vince was off to see his daughter.

"My private life is private, Jean Claude," he said, trying hard to be reasonable. "That's why it's called my private life, as opposed to my public life, yeah?"

He tried to look firm but the other man just kept walking until he they were almost touching. He stared into Vince's eyes as if trying to weigh up the likelihood that the story was true. Eventually he smirked.

"Either you are trying to hide your child from me, or, more likely, you are hiding the fact that your apartment is as empty as always. And it's probably for the best, Noir. While your frigid nature is amusing to me, it is also the key to my campaign. Vince Noir, the Lonely Angel is the face of Jean Claude Jaquettie. Not Vince Noir, family man. Or worse, Vince Noir, single father. I wouldn't want you to be suddenly too busy to work. You understand?"

Vince's face paled but Jaquettie misinterpreted the reaction and gave a harsh laugh.

"You see, the very thought of fatherhood sends you into a swoon. You are a drama queen, Noir, and that's all your little diva fit was about yesterday. A daughter indeed. You wouldn't even know where to begin."

With that he turned dramatically away and walked back toward the door. He stopped when he reached Ami, who cringed away from him, an act he found amusing if his grin was anything to go by. Vince looked at him in that moment and realised that, even with all of his amazing clothes, expensive boots and big hair, Jean Claude Jaquettie was ugly. A tramp in an alley had more going for him than Jaquettie and Vince wanted nothing more in that moment than to tell the man he could shove his contract and his campaign.

He knew he couldn't.

"I will see you on Friday, Vince. Bright and early. There is much to go through before our big night." He pushed past Ami but stopped and gave one last taunting smile. "And if I were you, I would stop getting your assistant to sneak you so many pastries. It is starting to show, you know. And we can't be having that, now can we Noir?"

As he strutted away from them down the hallway Vince found himself shaking with anger. He rushed forward and slammed the door, leaning his back against it and letting his legs give way beneath him.

It was as much from the pain of his bum hitting the hard floor as the anger at the whole sorry mess that made him let out another loud, "Fuck!"

The sound of two sets of footsteps hurrying from the kitchen toward him made him wish he could get trapped in a cabinet and just forget the world for a while. It was all just too much, too hard, too...

"Daddy?"

And suddenly it was ok again.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: I actually kind of wrote the ending to this story today. Now I'm just figuring out how I'll get there. Sorry I forgot to warn about the swearing in the last chapter. I think I need to put in a stationary warning for this one.

Howard was worried. Not just because he couldn't speak French and hadn't been able to understand what had sounded very much like an argument. Although that came into it. He was also worried because Vince had sworn twice in one morning. He could understand swearing when he'd banged into the wall with his trousers halfway up his legs. But now it seemed he was swearing because he didn't know what else to do.

The poor man was shaking and in his experience Vince didn't shake. Vince was usually the one coming up with the madcap but brilliant idea at the last minute to save their necks while he, Howard, begged for mercy. Vince was confidence with a cheeky grin and great hair. Vince was sunshine. Vince didn't sit on the floor pulling on his own hair and banging his head against the door.

He'd gone wrong and Howard didn't know what to do. There was a young woman near him, clutching a bag to her chest and staring down at Vince with equal measures of concern and fear. She obviously didn't know how to deal with this situation either.

Howard started to panic. What're we going to do? What're we going to do? What're we going t-

"Daddy?"

And suddenly everything seemed alright again. At least for now.

Howard watched as Vince lifted his head and opened his arms, an invitation to the tiny girl who scampered across the floorboards in her pink t-shirt-come-dress, and flung herself into her daddy's warm embrace.

As she nestled into him Howard looked on and wondered how they could make it look like they'd been cuddling like that for years when in reality they had only met a few hours ago. They made it look so easy, slotting together like pieces of a puzzle. Like parts of one soul.

Howard chanced a glance up at the woman and realised it was time for him to take action. She was staring at the two Noirs and their display of affection with her mouth hanging open and her glasses sliding off her nose at an angle.

He approached her carefully, like one might approach a flighty llama, with his hands out in front of him and his movements slow and fluid. It was like a dance, and one that he knew well. Vince had used to tease him about his dancing when they'd gone out together and he'd be the first (Well, the second. Vince had been the first.) to admit that he'd been a bit rubbish at dancing at clubs, either shuffling about and flapping his arms like a dalek, or skipping about like an infatuated yeti.

But this dance he knew well, and Vince had never teased him about his way with animals. He'd been full of praise, in fact. Recounting Howard's prowess with the creatures of the zoo to anyone who'd listen. Sure, Vince could talk to animals, but Howard could calm them down with nothing more than body language. If Vince was Mowgli in flares, he was Chris Packham in corduroy, oh yeah.

He used all of his body language powers now, approaching slowly, eyes averted but not completely down, hands in front of him in the traditional sign of surrender. And as he got closer the woman visibly relaxed. At the sound of his voice she very nearly imitated Blanche and threw herself into Howard's arms. As it was she restrained herself and merely grasped his shoulder.

"It's alright," he began. "I'm Howard, a friend of Vince's. That's his daughter, Blanche. What's your name?"

"You're from Yorkshire!"

It wasn't the response he'd been expecting but it made him smile all the same.

"So are you, from the sound of you," he replied and she laughed nervously, leaning on him more heavily. "I think we spoke on the phone yesterday, actually. You're Vince's PA, right?"

"Mm-hm. I'm from Leeds," she said breathily. "It's been so long since I heard someone speak properly. Monsieur Noir has always said he hired me because my voice reminded him of home. I always thought it was odd but if you're his friend, then maybe that's the connection. Did he live there then? Is that where you met?"

Her words all came out in a rush and Howard could barely process more than the sound of her soft, northern accent, but one thing stood out. Vince associated a Leeds' accent with home. Vince had never been to Leeds. They'd met in Sheffield as wayward foster boys. The only connection Vince had with Leeds was Howard, and Howard's accent, or Howard's voice, was a reminder of home. The idea had Howard puzzled for a moment.

(In his head his own jazzy little brain cell was screaming at him to connect the dots and realise the obvious, twitching nervously around the beige brain space in a tweed library suit. But Howard, for all his claims to intellectualism, and tobacco pipes, could be a bit slow sometimes. His brain cell gave it up as a lost cause, put Howard on autopilot, and went into a jazz trance instead.)

"Shall we... that is, would you like a cup of tea? Miss?"

The young woman blushed and looked up at Howard through her skewed spectacles.

"My name's Ami. Tea sounds lovely. But," she hesitated, looking down at Blanche and Vince who were still locked in a tight hug and apparently oblivious to their conversation, and the outside world in general.

"Lovely to meet you, Ami. And don't worry about those two. They've got lots of catching up to do. They'll be fine."

He led her through to the kitchen where she set down her paper bag and began to unpack its contents. Ami seemed much more at home in the kitchen. She bustled about, laying out the baguettes, cheese, eggs, milk, sausage, mayonnaise and chocolate she had brought with her. The bag was still half full when she'd finished unpacking the food and Howard peaked inside. Within were what looked like little girls' clothes and he smiled as he remembered Vince saying that he'd call his PA and have her bring around some clothes for Blanche to wear shopping.

"Did Vince ask you to bring the food then?" he asked, trying to make the question sound light hearted. He figured Ami might be just the person to question about the state of Vince's health and eating habits. The petite woman looked up at him with a wry expression on her face and Howard got the feeling that Ami probably knew Vince better than anyone in Paris, she certainly looked like the observant sort.

"No," she told him. "He asked me to bring a set of girl's clothes in a size three for his daughter, who was visiting from England. I nearly thought it was, you know, a cover story. That he wanted size three women's clothes for a, you know, lady friend, or something like that. But he said, no, he needed clothes for a little girl who was nearly four years old, but quite petite. I figured that if he was hosting a child for a few days he might need some supplies. Monsieur Noir may know how to make vegetables taste good but he barely eats enough to satisfy a three-year-old himself. I wouldn't like to think of him trying to feed a child the salads he lives on. So I brought some, you know, things. Just to tide you over until you can do a proper shop. Not that Vince goes food shopping. He gets it delivered... I'm talking too much aren't I?"

Howard smiled. He'd been right about her. Ami was thorough and caring and seemed to be worried about Vince just like he was.

"Not at all," he told her, trying to smile in a non-creepy way. He still found it difficult to smile at women in a way that wouldn't cause them to run screaming. His smile came out awkward but the answering one from Ami was similarly awkward so he didn't feel too bad.

"So," he said, wondering where he could go with the conversation. "Did you just have those clothes lying around or have you been on an early morning shopping spree at a kids boutique?"

"Oh, these were some older pieces I still had in the wardrobe from when the girls were a bit younger. Not my own, my partners'," she told him hurriedly. "They're five and seven. I love them like my own, though. And the best bit is that I get to be second mummy but didn't have to do the whole pregnancy and middle of the night feeding thing, you know?"

Howard nodded. He didn't really know but felt that nodding was the appropriate response at that point.

He felt a little bit disappointed. She seemed a really nice woman, the sort that probably appreciated stationary. Just his luck that she was already taken. He thought it was a little odd that he wasn't _that _disappointed. He was nearly forty after all. Soon he'd be fifty and then he'd be dead. He needed to find someone to spend his life with. Howard didn't want to die alone.

Vince wouldn't die alone. He had Blanche now. With a jolt Howard realised that he was jealous. But who was he jealous of? Vince or Blanche?

He wasn't jealous of Blanche, was he? For getting to be so close and cuddly with Vince so automatically?

It was a worrying thought and Howard filed it away for later thought, hoping it would get lost in the backlog of filing his brain had to do so he wouldn't actually have to look closely at his confused emotions.

He turned his attention back to Ami who had made herself at home in the kitchen and was boiling the kettle for tea. She seemed willing enough to talk and he wanted, nay, needed, to know what had gone on in the hallway to leave Vince in such a state. Things were seriously not right in his Vince's world and he was determined to get to the bottom of it, like a modern day Sherlock Holmes. He looked good in tweed and had plenty of pipe puffing experience. He'd do it right, not like that posh bloke they had playing Sherlock these days.

But how was he to go about asking about it? He'd have to be subtle, that was certain.

"So, what happened in the hallway this morn?" Ok, that wasn't so subtle, but he could come back from it. He was Howard Moon.

"This morn?" Ami asked, looking at him over the top of her glasses.

"Yep. I'm bringing morn back as a figure of speech."

"Right. It's quite good actually. I might start using that." Howard beamed. He'd never had such a positive response to his use of morn before. But that was beside the point.

"Anyway, the argument? It was an argument, wasn't it? But not with you. So who else was here? Who was Vince arguing with?"

Ami's eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"

Howard squared his shoulders. "Because no one bullies Vince and leaves him a shaking mess and gets away with it. Not when Howard Moon's around."

"Good," Ami nodded. "I just needed to make sure that you were on our side." She leaned in closer to Howard, pushing a mug of English Breakfast tea into his hands in a conspiratorial manner.

"The thing is, Monsieur Noir hasn't had a great year. When I first started working for him about twenty months ago he was, well, aloof of course, like in the commercials and that, but he was sweet too. And he loved trying out restaurants and clubs and having fun. He almost seemed a little shy or unsure of himself, and he was just so beautiful. People were stunned. Monsieur Jaquettie liked the mystery and intrigue his new model was causing, he's such an old gossip. He booked Monsieur Noir for photo shoots in all the most fashionable magazines but never let him do interviews, even though he speaks French like a native. He'd started off all kind and fatherly, even throwing money at some little theatre thing Noir had been desperate to do. But he got a bit possessive to be honest and started making comments about Monsieur Noir's weight. Bullied him in front of the other models and the designers. It wasn't nice."

She sighed and took a sip of her tea and Howard did the same but he was eager to hear more. He'd spoken to Vince every Tuesday and yet he'd had no idea about any of this. Was Vince really such a good actor that he'd hidden this all from Howard? Or had Howard, on some level, ignored the pain in his friend's voice, not wanting to believe that Vince might have been struggling, might actually have needed him.

He couldn't do anything about the past but he was certainly going to do something about the present. And the future.

"When Monsieur Jaquettie finally started taking Monsieur Noir's designs and ideas seriously I thought that maybe it would get better. Monsieur Noir was actually excited, nearly bouncing, when he told me that his designs were to be showcased at one of Jaquettie's runway shows. He was smiling, can you imagine? But if anything, the bullying got worse. Noir was like a toy that Jaquettie was tiring of. He's been riding Noir's success for two years but he knows he needs to come up with something new soon. He's getting on a bit, you know? And I think he thought he could really just claim Monsieur Noir's designs for himself."

"What!?"

"I know, it's ludicrous. But Monsieur Noir's been very brave, standing up for his ideas and wanting to model some of them. He stormed out of a fitting yesterday after Jaquettie tried to tell him that he couldn't wear his own designs at the show on Friday."

"What!?"

"He also tried to tell Monsieur Noir that he was boring, had no sunshine, and that his own designs didn't suit him. Can you imagine? If Monsieur Noir isn't as bright and sunny as he once was the blame can be laid at the shiny booted feet of Jaquettie. The names that man calls him: vapid, frigid, cold. Just because he doesn't play the field and make the tabloids every weekend."

"What?"

"That's why it was such a shock to hear he has a daughter. Vince Noir, the lonely angel, who never does more than kiss the girls on the cheek, who parties all night but always leaves alone."

"What?" Howard's exclamations had gone from loud and outraged to quiet and confused as he tried to make sense of what Ami was telling him about Vince. Except she wasn't talking about Vince at all, was she? Not really. She was talking about Monsieur Noir. Monsieur Noir was a stranger.

But even if no one here really knew Vince, Howard knew that his friend hadn't been destroyed by Jaquettie's bullying and the strains of the industry. His Vince had just been hidden from those people but he'd put in an appearance for Howard, and for Blanche.

Howard liked the idea that Vince couldn't be anything but his true, bubbly self when with those who loved him.

Wait. Love? Had he said love?

"What?"

Ami gave him another look. She seemed very good at those.

"Are you stuck?"

Howard shook himself. His feelings were running away with his brain and he really couldn't keep up. He needed to focus on Ami's story, on what had been happening to Vince while he'd been sulking back in Dalston.

"I'm fine," he told her. "It's just... a lot to take in. Back home, Vince was known as the Sunshine Kid. He had a different girlfriend or boyfriend every week and he smiled at everything. It was annoying really. But-"

"The Sunshine Kid? Truly?" Now it was Ami's turn to look confused.

"Truly."

"Gosh."

"I take it that it was Jaquettie who turned up this morning? And that he was being a bully?

Ami nodded. "He threatened Vince, I think. Told him that if he found out that Vince had a child he'd drop him. Vince doesn't have an agent. He's basically been owned by Jaquettie these last two years. I don't know what'll happen to him if Jaquettie gets rid of him. I don't know if any other design house would have him."

Howard frowned down at the empty mug in his large hands. There was only one thing to be done.

"We need a plan," he said with conviction.

"Agreed. I'll get us some stationary."


	13. Chapter 13

Vince cried quietly into his daughter's hair. This was wrong. He'd gone wrong. He never cried. Well, there was that one time, when he'd been feverish from the rogue jazz cell poisoning his body and Bollo had told him that Jagger had put on weight. But he'd been out of it then and had been pretty messed up from other things too. He didn't cry normally. That was Howard's shtick, not his. When things got bad he just swore his tits off.

So why was he suddenly such a mess?

It probably had a lot to do with the sudden appearance of a daughter in his life. Naboo would tell him the situation was releasing old memories and that he needed to deal with them before he could move on properly. Or something like that.

But he reckoned it was more than that. He'd been on edge for a while and now he was finally cracking, like an egg that'd been jostled around in its carton for too long. He was cracking and all his yolk was going to escape.

Well... maybe not that, but the metaphor was still a good one.

Blanche was holding on to him so tight he could feel her arm bones digging into his rib bones. He could also feel a spreading wet patch on his t-shirt and knew that she was crying too.

What a pair they made. But he was supposed to be the grown-up. He should be comforting her, not crying and ruining her gorgeous hair with salty tears. She was only three years old after all. Vince had worked really hard at figuring out Blanche's age and thought that she was about three and a half. He hated to think about what her first three and a half years had been like. He had a lot of time to make up for.

But he also had another rather big and immediate problem. Jaquettie.

The man had basically said that he would drop Vince if he found out about his daughter. Vince would go back to being a nobody. He would be ok financially, he'd put money aside with Ami's help. But the dream would be over. He'd have failed. There would be no more bright lights or costumes. He would have failed his mother.

Except, hadn't he just about failed already?

His mum had told him to never lose the magic but the magic had all but evaporated from his life. What were costumes and adulation without magic? And without people to share it with?

Vince kissed Blanche on her blonde little head. She was so kissable. So cuddly. Vince just couldn't get enough of her affectionate nature. He'd never seemed to get as many hugs as he wanted and he didn't want her to ever feel like she wasn't getting her cuddle quota. It just felt too nice.

He'd stopped crying and was actually smiling comfortably. He'd been a little worried that his smiling muscles might have withered from lack of use but they seemed to be coping alright. He should pace himself though, so he didn't strain anything.

Blanche seemed to have stopped crying too and was humming one of her little tunes again. It was hypnotizing and Vince suddenly felt a light go on in his head (thanks to his brain cell flicking on a torch to try and get the message across, but Vince wasn't to know that).

Why had he been so bothered? He'd been miserable this year. Even while he was planning the show and seeing his designs come to life in silk and sequins, he'd been miserable. And he thought he was just going to be miserable forever, he'd gotten used to the idea, like you get used to a new hair colour. And then in one day it was like he'd found himself again. Howard had arrived and suddenly he wasn't miserable anymore. He'd met his little girl and suddenly he was Vince again.

Screw the fashion industry. Screw Jaquettie. He didn't need glamour and fame, he had a family. Well, he had a daughter. And Howard.

Vince frowned, even though he knew it'd probably give him wrinkles.

The whole Howard thing was confusing. When he'd been a kid Howard had been his rock. He made life in the foster home bearable. When he'd been a teenager Vince had worshiped Howard and had gone to Monkey Hell and back for him. When the zoo had closed and they'd gone back to finish school and travel around and have a go at college, Vince had realised that he and Howard were actually equals. He wasn't just Howard's sidekick. They were friends. That had been a big moment for Vince. It was also at about that time that he'd realised that he didn't want to be away from Howard. Ever.

And for years he hadn't had to. They'd clung to each other, through all the crummy jobs and rubbish gigs. Even when they were bickering and teasing, they'd been there for each other. But then things had gone bad. It had really kicked off after the incident with Madeline and the punk band and then suddenly Vince was inadvertently selling Howard out for a cape and Howard was threatening to turn his back on him. Vince had tried to fix things but that hadn't worked out either. He'd thought up a genius present for Howard's birthday ('cos you're never too old for a bouncy castle), but it'd arrived late. He'd set up one of the hottest parties just for Howard but had gone and ruined it by being vain and self-centered. Then he'd gone and ruined his best mate's first kiss. By being his best mate's first kiss.

Things had got well weird after that.

Vince had even tried to tone down his look, going for black drainpipes and shirts, without quite knowing why. Did he want to make himself more or less noticeable to Howard? Or more or less attractive? It was all so confusing.

He'd tried to be nice to Howard again, letting him show off his poncey acting in his Electro Circus. That had been a mistake. Howard had been spotted by that weird Jurgen geezer and whisked off to Europe. Vince had been devastated but hadn't been able to show it. He knew that Howard leaving had been his fault. He'd made Naboo hire the first person to walk through the shop door who'd had a northern accent and then had basically forced the guy to grow a moustache.

Howard leaving him had hurt and by the time he came back Vince was feeling too bitter about it all to even get excited. He'd been scouted by Jaquettie three months later and had considered it payback.

But now...

He loved being with Howard.

He needed Howard.

If he was honest with himself he just plain loved Howard. More than fashion and music and sweets and his hair. He loved Howard as much as he loved his rag doll. The doll sleeping in his top drawer with his socks. The doll that was all he had left of his mum. A doll that meant love and safety. Like Howard.

He wasn't sure of the mechanics of loving Howard. He found Howard attractive and he wanted to be with him and cuddle him and all that. He'd quite like to kiss him again too. But he was pretty sure that Howard wouldn't be up for an actual relationship. He practically turned into a pomegranate whenever Vince made a joke about bumming. Yeah, he was pretty sure Howard wouldn't be up for that. But if he was...

Genius.

... What had he been thinking about again?

Oh, yeah. Screw Jaquettie.

He climbed awkwardly to his feet while still holding Blanche in his arms, making lots of theatrical grunts and groans as he did so and being rewarded by another perfect tinkling giggle from Blanche.

He swapped her to his hip as they headed into the kitchen where Howard and Ami were looking down at a blank piece of paper with matching intense expressions.

"Alright, team," he announced, grinning when they both jumped. Ami blinked. She'd probably never seen him smile like this. Well, she and the rest of Paris would be getting well acquainted with this grin. He had a plan forming and he hadn't even needed a plan pony to help him.

"Alright team. If this is it, if this the end, then by Jagger I'm going out with a bang!"


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: I wrote about four chapters today so am looking over them and uploading. Hope people are still enjoying it. Ta.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mighty Boosh. Sad, I know.

It had been, for Vince, just like old times, the old team back together. Well, him and Howard and their female doppelgängers. He'd hired Ami because she made tweed look cute and spoke with a Northern accent. She was a girl Howard and for a moment Vince wondered why he hadn't ever fancied her. Blanche on the other hand was a little girl version of her daddy.

Together they'd plotted out Vince's farewell from his Lonely Angel persona and, possibly, his modeling career. He was going to be embarrassing and sweet and smiley in public. He was going to go out with his best mate and his daughter and smile and shop and be the opposite of everything he had been for the last two years.

Ami would be there to make sure everything went off without a hitch and was currently pacing around the lounge room with her phone, giving tip-offs to the tabloids that the rumours about Vince Noir just might be true and that he'd be out on the Rue Saint-Honoré around three p.m. Howard was preparing lunch in the kitchen, humming some jazzy number and smug as a spider monkey because Blanche was somehow humming along and dancing a bit in her seat. She was also drawing on the spare sheets of paper left over from Howard and Ami's stationary enthusiasm. Her picture looked uncannily like a pink pony in genius boots and Vince was starting to think that his daughter was genuinely a child genius.

Howard had made a passing comment about the fact that Vince seemed to have missed breakfast so would need extra lunch. Vince had slipped away, feeling a little ill at the thought of meat and cheese and bread and having to eat it all under the tiny watchful eyes of Howard. Yes, Jaquettie had made his life pretty miserable but he'd been right about Vince's weight. He'd always struggled with his size: his chicken drummer legs, his pumpkin ass. It had been bad enough when he was back in Dalston but in Paris he felt the need to look perfect. And perfect was thin.

He knew there something wrong in his brain space as he thought that. The need to be skinny and perfect was how it had started. It had developed into a paranoia about being dropped by Jaquettie and rejected by the rich, famous and fashionable. Now it was about having something in his life that he had control over, that and a palpable fear of fat.

He knew that if he was going to make a statement by sticking two fingers up at Jaquettie then he should probably make a statement by going back to a healthy weight. He did miss some foods, but the though of putting a sandwich in his mouth made him gag. It was just too much. He'd have to start slow and work his way up. Maybe he could start with a salad at lunch instead of nothing and then slowly work his way back to things like cheese and bread. He was a dad now, after all. He had to set a healthy example for Blanche.

Vince sighed and wondered at how he'd managed to grow up so much in just twenty four hours. Having a kid was hard work.

He'd taken the clothes Ami had brought around for Blanche and had hidden himself away in the spare bedroom which also doubled as his sewing room. The clothes weren't too bad, Ami's partner worked in Catimini after all, but they were a couple of years old and he still wanted to add a few Vince Noir touches. He had an outfit for himself in mind and wanted Blanche's to match. Well, not entirely. Not like a pair of really mismatched identical twins. He just wanted there to be a connection, a tie in, a bit of flair that would show the world that Blanche was his daughter and he was proud to be a daddy.

He set to work with a needle and thread, sequins, some pink scraps, studs and a hot glue gun and didn't reemerge until Howard called out that lunch was ready.

Blanche's little gasp at the sight of the clothes her daddy had customized for her was, like her face, priceless. She took in the pink trims and the glints of reflected light off the sequins and seemed utterly enthralled. Vince was going to love taking her out shopping. He reckoned she'd be a natural at that, too.

"What do you reckon, sweetie?" he said, laying the clothes out in front of her.

"Genius," she whispered and Vince hugged her so tight she squealed.

As they sat down to eat Ami cleared her throat nervously. She was still finding things a bit strange. In the last year and a half she had been the closest thing Vince had had to a friend but it had still been a professional relationship. Now she was being treated like family and Vince could recognise some Howardish nervousness about her at the change.

"Mr Noir?" she asked and Vince rolled his eyes.

"You can call me Vince now, Ami. It's ok." She smiled and started again and Vince was pleased at how well she'd accepted his true personality.

"Well, Vince. I've been thinking. I know that you want to make a statement and separate yourself from Monsieur Jaquettie and I understand why, I think. But why are you so sure that this is going to end your career? I'm certain it's too late for Jaquettie to pull the show on Friday. People are turning up to see your designs as much as his, you know. Why do you think you won't be able to continue as a designer?"

Vince didn't really have a proper answer to that. He'd been told so many times that he wasn't ready to be a designer in his own right, that he had so much to learn, that he wasn't really good enough. Even the compliments had seemed to imply that Jaquettie was indulging him but that he wasn't good enough to take his ideas elsewhere.

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I do. I've been thinking it over, and I do."

Howard snorted and Vince immediately felt himself getting defensive. Was Howard mocking him? He hadn't even seen his designs, how dare he!

But one look at Howard's face told him he needn't have bothered. Howard was looking at him with a huge amount of affection. It was a little overwhelming actually and made him feel a little giddy.

"Vince, you plum. Of course your designs are good enough." He chuckled and Vince glared.

"How do you know?" Howard just continued chuckling. "Stop laughing at me! You haven't seen my stuff. You don't even like fashion. How can you-"

"Vince, you've been designing and making your own clothes since you were twelve. You love your sewing machine nearly as much as your hair straighteners. Anything you've designed is going to turn out brilliantly. If Jaquettie has made you believe otherwise then he's a major idiot. And so are you."

Vince gaped. Ami gaped. Blanche shoved another sandwich into her mouth.

Had Howard really just told him he was good at something? Howard never did that. Howard never complimented his outfits. Well, there was that one time, but he was pretty sure that saying he looked like a futuristic prostitute wasn't actually a compliment. He'd only said thank you because he wanted his approval so desperately.

"But Howard-"

"No buts, little man," Howard told him firmly. "I'm all for giving Old Jaquettie the two fingers, but that doesn't mean you should give up your dream. We can give your drawings to some fashion designers in England maybe, or try our luck here in Paris. Jaquettie's not the only designer in this city."

Vince sighed. A day ago he would have done whatever he'd needed to in order to stay in this game. Now he wasn't so sure he wanted to, not if it meant pretending to be something he really wasn't. Playing a character had been fine when it'd been just him but now that he had Blanche (And possibly Howard) in his life he didn't want to be anyone but himself. And he wasn't sure if being himself would be good enough. And then there was the wrath of Jaquettie to consider.

"Howard," he tried to sound calm and mature. "That's really sweet and all but when Jaquettie finds out about what I'm doing today, that I'm breaking the persona he build for me, he ain't just going to fire me, he's going to bad mouth me to every designer he knows. No one's going to want to work with me once he's chewed me out. I'm not being defeatist or nothing, just realistic. And now that I've got you, I mean Blanche, now I've got Blanche," phew that was close! "I don't mind so much. I don't really want to go back to working in the Nabootique but maybe I can start up my own shop or something. I dunno. I'm not much good at finances or organising and that but," he took a shaky breath. "But, maybe if you were there to help me, I could make it work?"

Howard was gaping and Vince started to panic. He hadn't really thought this idea through in much detail. What if Howard turned him down? He started to get lost in his thoughts but stopped himself because Howard was opening his mouth and whatever he said now, Vince got the feeling it would be important.

"Vince, I- I'd follow you anywhere. Whatever you want to do, we'll do it. You and me."

The silence in the room was deafening. Vince didn't know what to say. He knew he loved Howard. He wasn't quite sure _how_ he loved Howard but he knew that he loved him a whole lot and what Howard had just said, that sounded a whole lot like a confession of love. He had to say something. He had to make sure that what they had, their friendship, their HowardandVince existence, whatever it was, would be ok. They'd both thrown it away before and the bitterness and misunderstandings had nearly destroyed them.

But what could he say? What could he possibly say that would make Howard take him seriously? What-

"I love you!"

Where had that come from?! He hadn't meant to say that. Vince considered the possible ways he might be able to give his brain cell a slap for making him say that. Even if it was true, it was more likely to make Howard take a leap out of the window than take him seriously.

Vince was well and truly on his way to a panic attack now. They didn't happen often anymore but every now and then he needed to run off and retrieve his doll and sit quietly in a corner. He wasn't sure he could get away with that right now but if he couldn't then he really needed to go and empty his stomach of it's measly lunch.

He chanced a look up at Howard but couldn't read his expression. This had all gone wrong, it was all just-

"Well that's a relief," Howard said, letting his arm stretch out across the table so his hand could take hold of Vince's.

"What?"


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: Last instalment for today. I need a sleepy. Night all.

The first time he'd said it, Vince had been asleep, no more than a child, and Howard had been comforting him after a nightmare. He'd said it so many times back then, but only when Vince was asleep and wouldn't be able to hear.

The first time Vince had heard him say it, they'd been about to die, or so they thought, and he'd been desperate for Vince to know that he cherished their friendship.

_"Vince, I love you."_

The next time he'd said it had been under the influence of beer, fear, adrenaline and his first kiss. He'd not so much said 'I love you' as he had thanked Vince for the gift of love and proclaimed his newly found gayness from the rooftop. He'd thought for a minute that it might have been the start of something, only to get distracted by that pencil case girl who, it turned out, wasn't really that into jazz or stationary at all. He'd regretted ditching Vince, especially as the younger man's hurt face seemed to be etched behind his eyelids.

...

The first time Vince had said it, he'd been laughing. Nervous and caught off guard at Howard's confession. Howard had refused to accept it, but Vince had said it all the same.

_"I do love you, Howard!"_

The second time Vince had said it, he hadn't really said it either but it'd been implied.

_"I'll never love again." _

Things had gotten weird after that. Howard had left, then come back. Vince had left and not come back, except for the play. Howard remembered the play.

The third time Vince had said it, Howard had barely been listening and it had only been later, watching back the video of the show that he realised what Vince had said, what he'd declared in front of a crowd of strangers no less

_"The thing is Howard, you know I love you and everything. But, you're just a bit mentally slow."_

_..._

And now this.

_"I love you!"_

...

Vince had now said it four times to Howard's two. And he wasn't laughing. Wasn't joking or drunk or sulking at being turned down. Vince was in earnest.

Howard knew he should have been scared. He didn't like people in his space, or intimacy of any kind. Except with Vince, who had always been the exception. And now Blanche.

He knew he needed Vince. Without him the world was devoid of magic, even in a place like the Nabootique, surrounded by shamen and mystical nicknacks, there was a distinct lack of magic when Vince wasn't there.

He knew he loved Vince. He wasn't sure what sort of love it was but he did find the man attractive (Didn't everyone?) and he sure as heck wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. They could work out the rest as they went.

He loved Vince and Vince loved him. He felt so euphoric it was like being in a jazz trance but he suddenly realised that he'd been quiet for a bit too long. Vince looked on the verge of a panic attack and Blanche, who was watching them with her mouth open, was about to lose the sandwich she stuffed in there and then forgotten about.

He took a deep breath and went for it.

"Well that's a relief," Howard said, letting his arm stretch out across the table so his hand could take hold of Vince's.

"What?"

Vince looked confused and a bit sick so Howard rubbed his thumb across the back of the other man's hand.

"Because I love you, Vince. It's good to know you love me too. Makes things a whole lot easier, don't you think?"

Vince didn't seem to be able to talk, and Howard could understand that he was a little shocked. Vince had always been quite forward with his feelings. He'd been flirting with Howard since he arrived and had been cuddly and affectionate to boot. While Howard had been more accommodating of the affection than he used to be he couldn't blame Vince for not knowing how Howard felt. He'd always been the subtle one of the two, but sometimes that was a disservice. He'd have to try harder in the future. Their future.

"But, that's..." Vince's voice trailed off.

"Genius!" came a muffled little voice. Blanche was trying to swallow her mouth full of food and nearly choked when both Howard and Vince turned to her and told her:

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

Vince turned back to Howard and Howard took in his cobalt eyes, so full of emotion, and his flawless face which was looking at him with such devotion. This didn't seem possible, and yet it was, and he wasn't going to screw it up.

"I love you, Vince," he said quietly.

"I love you too, you big muppet," Vince whispered with a smirk.

There wasn't the emotion he might have imagined. There were no tears, no one swept anyone off their feet into a passionate kiss. There was no swooning or anything like that. He was still Howard and Vince was still Vince and thank Brian Christ for that. He did bring Vince's hand up to his lips and press a gentle kiss to his knuckles but that was the extent of the romance just then. They'd have time for that later.

Vince giggled at the kiss but when he took his hand back he brushed the spot with his fingers lovingly and bit his lip in a way that was, Howard suddenly realised, utterly adorable.

Howard could have happily sat there and watched his friend looking adorable all day but they had plans to put into motion.

"So," he said, trying to sound seductive and like he knew what he was doing. "Shall we continue this discussion over dinner?"

Vince's laugh was so loud it made all three people around the table jump.

"That was well corny, Howard!" he laughed.

"It was from the heart, you tit. Don't you go laughing at me," Howard responded but he wasn't really cross. Vince's laugh was light and without malice and it was good just to see him laugh.

"I'm just laughing 'cos I'm happy, Howard. Don't get your trumpet sock in a twist," Vince teased and Howard chuckled along with him.

"And?"

"And dinner sounds lovely, Howard,"Vince accepted graciously. "As long as Ami's ok to look after Blanche for an hour or two and Blanche is happy to hang out with Ami?" He looked at them hopefully and Howard was again impressed at Vince's new found ability to think of his daughter's needs and put them before his own. It made him love the younger man all the more. He looked into those blue eyes and thought he might never emerge from their depths. Might never want to.

Oh dear, he was genuinely in love. With Vince.

Ami had to be the one to break the spell in the end.

"We should probably get going," she said gently. "There may be one or two photographers who've been told they'll catch sight of you in about an hour and it's best to get this all happening while Blanche is still full of beans."

"Too right," Vince agreed. "Don't want my little lady getting exhausted too soon."

He bounded up from the table and kissed Blanche on the top of the head. Howard stood too and tried to catch Vince on his way past but the smaller man dodged, giggling as he darted away, only to land a firm smack to Howard's backside.

It was unexpected but not unpleasant, which made Howard blush despite himself. Being in a relationship with Vince was going to be fun, he could tell, but it was going to take some getting used to.

Vince looked back at him over his shoulder, cheeky and bubbly the way Vince Noir was supposed to be.

"This is going to be genius, Howard. Me and my family out together, shopping and being happy. And Jaquettie can choke on his own unicorn tears."

Blanche skipped up and slipped her hand into Howard's, smiling up at him with a face that was a near mirror of her father's when he'd been a boy.

"Genius, yeah?"

Howard smiled. He couldn't agree with her more.

"Yeah," he said. "Genius."


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: Not sure about the start of this chapter but I like the way it ends. Hope you like it too.

**Vince Noir - Surprise Family Man**

Vince Noir, the face of Jean Claude Jaquettie's hugely successful _Unicorn Tears_ campaign which includes its own line of clothes, perfumes and hair products, is branching out it seems, and we're not just referring to his much anticipated first collection to be released at a fashion show in central Paris this Friday.

Noir has been known on the fashion scene for the last two years as the mysterious Lonely Angel. Always looking perfectly made up but rarely smiling and never showing an interest in the hoards of young and willing fashionistas who have surrounded him.

Some saw this as a ploy to protect his privacy and it worked. This publication have had little to report on the enigmatic Noir, except for his dwindling weight. Others dismissed Noir as simply boring, never doing anything news worthy despite being a regular party goer. But the Lonely Angel front seems to have been just that, a front.

On Monday evening Noir was rumored to have been seen at the Eurostar station, meeting his estranged partner and young child and yesterday those rumours were confirmed when Noir was snapped by our photographers with his previously unknown family, smiling and laughing during a shopping trip on the Rue Saint-Honoré in a way that was uncharacteristic but very charming.

Sources close to Noir were able to confirm that he is indeed the father of a girl aged three and that Noir now has sole custody of Blanche Noir (pictured below).

Noir's choice of partner was also a surprise to many. Howard Moon (pictured right) has none of Noir's fashion flare but seems to be a forerunner in the new Thrift Store Chic look (See page 98 for details).

Together they made a very sweet couple and doting parents. They were spotted holding hands, cuddling with little Blanche and even, as you can see here, sharing a quick kiss.

Does this mean that the days of the Lonely Angel are over?

And what does this mean for Jaquettie's _Unicorn Tears_ campaign?

Noir certainly looked happier and, dare we say it, healthier, than he has in some time and if the word going around about his new designs is true, we might be about to see the start of something new and exciting from this model-come-designer.

And if his choice of outfit (pictured) is anything to go by, his career should be very exciting indeed.

**Romance Spotting at the Le Grand Véfour**

...Others among the Paris elite spotted at Le Grand Vefour this week were the mysterious and beautiful Vince Noir who was dining with a tall, dark and handsome mystery man. Noir, one of the city's top models and hot new designer, has been rarely seen out on a date but according to our sources it went extremely well, complete with champagne, the Vefour's signature desert and a kiss shared as the two left arm in arm.

This Blogger wonders how much of his meal Noir actually ate, having been criticized by some in recent months for his thin, almost gaunt, appearance. But if the rumours that Noir is parting ways with Jean Claude Jaquettie are true, then perhaps we'll be seeing more of Noir at restaurants like Le Grand Vefour, and his handsome stranger with him.

...

The online forums had exploded with gossip about the mysterious appearance of Vince Noir's child and lover. Some people said it was all a publicity stunt. Others were confused that he was dating a man but also had a child. Most comments focused on the fact that a smiling, happy Vince Noir was even more attractive (if that was possible) than a silent and aloof Monsieur Noir.

Ami had been keeping an eye on it all and by the time Vince entered the venue for the runway show that Friday morning there had been several write-ups (with photos) in tabloid publications and a whole lot of on-line articles, all speculating on Vince's past and his possible future away from Jaquettie.

Howard watched his best friend, now boyfriend, strut toward the gaggle of models, designers and staff with a real sense of pride. He knew how much effort it was taking to appear confident, how close he'd come to a panic attack that morning. The only way he'd managed to coax Vince out of the apartment was by digging up the younger man's rag doll. Howard personally found the old toy a bit disturbing but it had done the trick and when Blanche had seen it she had fallen in love with it which had given them an excuse to bring it along.

He sat in the back row with Blanche next to him, waiting in the background while Vince went to face his colleagues. They knew this would be a hard thing for Vince to do and Vince had been adamant that he needed Howard with him. Blanche had been equally adamant that she was coming too. She was happy enough to doze on the couch for a few hours with Ami but she didn't want to be away from her daddy for long. Or from Papa Howard either.

Howard had been speechless when he'd heard the title the night before.

Blanche and Vince had come up with it together, over ice cream. Vince figured that if she wasn't going to have a mum in her life, she could have two dads instead. He was going to be Daddy Vince, he explained, and Howard was to be Papa Howard.

Howard had tried to complain that the name made him sound more like a grandpa than a dad but then Blanche had crawled into his lap and Vince had nuzzled into his side and he hadn't really wanted to complain anymore.

Life had changed so much in the last few days. For all three of them, and they were still surprised by the changes and how good life was becoming. Vince had been stunned when people had written about him as an up and coming designer. He was suddenly the talk of the town and had been booked for several magazine interviews in the weeks to come.

Howard had been horrified when the stories of Jaquettie's bullying of his underlings and models had gone public through other people who had worked for him. He'd talked too many models into eating disorders and Vince was now being congratulated for taking a stand and wanting to be a healthy weight again.

Blanche had been amazed at her discovery of ice cream and the concept of three meals a day plus snacks.

There had been discoveries all round.

And now Vince was standing there in front of people who had ridiculed him and laughed when Jaquettie humiliated him, staring them down as they shuffled around. A couple of people apologised. Others thanked him for taking a stand and asked if they could go with him when he left. Some just walked away in disgust. It seemed that Vince had started a coup without even trying.

As Howard watched, Vince organized his models and rehearsed his part of the runway show, working with the stage manager until the whole thing was running smoothly (Who knew fashion shows had stage managers? Howard was impressed). He checked over every fabric creation and requested a few last minute alterations. Howard could see that a little of the coldness was still there in Vince's tone of voice and the way he stood but he'd been professional too and by the time he called break he was even smiling with some of the dress ladies who were taking it in turns to give him hugs and compliment his clothes.

Blanche had been enthralled by the clothes and the music and the lights and had been drawing away in a sketch pad Vince had dug out for her the day before. She was quite the little artist and even if the pictures were primitive he could tell easily which of the figures was Daddy Vince and which was Papa Howard. There were lots of pictures of her daddy. In one it looked like he was riding a unicorn.

He'd been so involved in looking at her drawings he hadn't even noticed Vince approach until a shadow fell across the sketch pad.

"Is that me, sweetie?"

Blanche looked up with a dazzling smile. "Yup!"

"Am I riding a unicorn? That's brilliant!"

"No," she told him, rolling her eyes in a near perfect imitation of Howard. "Is a horsey wiv one of those icy creams on it's face."

"Oh, right, of course," Vince nodded, taking his daughter's bizarre notion completely seriously. Howard just chuckled and Vince turned his attention to the sound.

"How you two holding up?" he asked. Howard nodded.

"We're fine, love. You?"

Vince looked a little strained but excited too. He could see the energy pouring off him but the small man was somehow keeping it contained, something Howard never thought he'd see.

"Nearly set, I reckon. All my stuff's ready. I've spoken to some of the front of house guys and they say the've had calls all morning from other designers, big names, Howard, who want last minute tickets. It's going to be packed, Howard! I can't believe it."

Howard went to tell him that he thought that was fantastic, that Vince deserved to have his work seen by the fashion greats, that he was proud. But he didn't get to say any of that because Vince's lips intercepted his and within moments his lap was full of excited model and there was a tongue begging entry to his mouth.

Howard still wasn't great when it came to kissing and all other signs of physical affection. He was trying his best but it was slow going. He was still processing what it meant to love Vince, let alone be in a relationship with Vince. It could be overwhelming at times, both the emotions and the affection being aimed at him almost constantly. Luckily Vince had been incredibly understanding.

They hadn't moved beyond the kiss yet. Vince said that was fine, that he respected that, and besides, Blanche was still sleeping in the bed between them at night. Three days was nothing, he told Howard. If they wanted to make this relationship work, they should take things at a reasonable pace.

There was also no need to rush through the snogging phase, Vince explained. Kissing was genius. Howard was inclined to agree. Kissing Vince was incredible. Vince was incredible.

He slid his hands up and wrapped his arms around Vince's waist, tugging him in closer. Vince shivered and smiled against Howard's mouth.

"God, I love you," he murmured and Howard let out a little moan.

They could have kept right on like that if it wasn't for a throat being cleared nervously nearby.

"Alright, Ami?" Vince said breathily, breaking the kiss but not turning around. He nestled himself into Howard's chest instead.

"Alright, Vince, Howard, Blanche," she replied and Howard looked up in time to see her smile.

"I didn't want to interrupt you two, it's just that, well, um..."

"What is it, Ami? Can't be that bad," Vince turned, giving her a reassuring grin.

"It's Jaquettie. He's here."

Vince nodded and Howard could see him taking a few deep breaths.

"Right then," he said. "This is where it all kicks off then, yeah?"

"Yeah," Howard agreed, ready with a speech about facing one's fears and the importance of being the bigger man in any argument but Vince had pulled him in for another passionate kiss. Howard could feel Vince's fear and hope in the press of his lips and he tried to give reassurance back but he wasn't quite sure how to send psychic messages through kisses yet, hopefully that was something Vince would teach him eventually.

Vince broke the kiss with a gasp and pressed his forehead against Howard's. He could feel Vince's heart beating in his delicate chest. He didn't understand how someone could be so strong and surprising and yet so fragile at the same time.

"You'll do fine, love," he whispered. "Do you want me to come with you? Be your back up, your wing man, your sidekick?"

Vince laughed. You've never been my sidekick, Howard. You're leading man material, remember?"

"But I'd happily be your sidekick."

"Be the Robin to my Batman?"

"Yep."

"WonderWoman to my Superman?"

"Um, no Vince. WonderWoman was never a sidekick."

"Will you still dress up as WonderWoman for me?"

Howard laughed and poked Vince in the ribs.

"Depends how well you behave," he growled. Vince squirmed in his lap but jumped up before it could get too embarrassing.

"Seriously though, will you come with me?" Howard creased his forehead.

"Really? What about Blanche?" Vince's face fell but he nodded. Howard hated being right sometimes.

"I go with Ami," Blanche piped up but Vince was still frowning.

"Are you sure, darling?"

"Yup. I need to go to toilet."

"I could take you?" Howard offered but Blanche gave him one of her serious faces.

"You're a boy. Ami's a girl. I'm going wi' Ami."

Ami agreed and Vince took another calming breath. Blanche gave both Vince and Howard a kiss and sent them on their way and as they walked toward the backstage area Howard took the initiative for once and put his arm around Vince's waist. Vince looked up at him with a look of delight and gave Howard a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Hips bumping together as they walked, Howard and Vince made their way to where they could hear Jaquettie laying into some poor model.

This was it, yes sir, and Howard was ready. Even if he didn't know what what _it_ was.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: Happy Fathers Day! It's FD here, is it FD in the rest of the world? This isn't a big chapter but gave me some warm fuzzies as I wrote it. Hope it's ok. Ta.

This was it. And he was well nervous.

Vince went to chew on his thumb nail but stopped before he did any damage, checking them just to be sure. He wouldn't have time to redo the varnish before tonight and it wouldn't do for him to look nervous when confronting Jaquettie anyway.

At least he had Howard with him. He'd often teased Howard for being slow with his come back lines but he did have his moments. When they'd been cornered on Xooberon by that blue midget Howard had spurted put-downs like a master and he wouldn't mind a bit of that Howard Moon magic right now. Except-

Vince came to a sudden halt and Howard stumbled to a stop beside him.

"What's the matter, little man?" he asked gently, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his face. Vince tried to calm down, it wasn't so bad, really. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself, but it wouldn't be the same without Howard there to jump to his defense.

"You don't speak French, Howard."

"What?"

Vince tried not to get annoyed but it was tricky. He was getting really nervous now. "You don't speak French, Howard. You were always rubbish at it."

"So?" Vince tried not to think that Howard was being purposefully dense. Howard _could_ be dense but he didn't do it on purpose

"Jaquettie's French. They're all French. They speak bloody French, Howard! ... You won't be able to understand what they're saying, you berk. How will you be able to help me if you don't know what's going on?"

His voice had gone all high and squeaky but he didn't know how to coax it back down again. Howard put his hands on his shoulders and turned him until they were facing. It was funny how Howard could make him feel so safe. It had been like that when they were kids but somewhere along the way to adulthood he'd forgotten and it felt good to remember what it felt like to be taken care of.

It also felt good to have Howard's hand gently stroking his cheek, which he was doing right now. Calming him down like he was scared otter.

Having Howard as his boyfriend was still weird. He hadn't known until he'd kissed him again whether the love he felt had any sort of physical element and he'd been even more nervous than he was now when he'd done it.

They'd been heading out the door for their big shopping trip when Vince had taken his chance and given Howard a lingering kiss on the cheek. It had felt good. A bit scratchy, but good. A little bit electric actually. And electric was always good, right?

Howard had been nervous, all twitchy and stiff as Vince kissed him. Apparently kissing Vince's hand was easier than being kissed on the cheek. He smiled weakly at Vince, looking all shrimp eyed and adorable and Vince had decided that he was going keep trying with the whole kissing thing. He'd felt something, he loved Howard, they just had to get used to being more than mates.

He'd snuck in a kiss while standing at the counter of the first boutique they visited, and another when they'd been deciding where to go next. The first five kisses had been on the cheek but when he'd gone in for the sixth, as they'd been heading home with a sleeping Blanche nestled into Howard's chest and Vince's arms full of shopping bags, Howard had turned his head and their lips had collided. Howard had jerked in surprise but then, before Vince could pull away, he'd pressed into the kiss and Vince had realised that a HowardVince kiss really did have the power to flick a guy's switch.

He didn't just love Howard, he wanted him.

By the end of their romantic dinner that evening they'd been snogging like teenagers. Vince had been careful not to take things any further than that, and he had his reasons. They were both really emotional right now, Howard had almost no experience, and as much as Vince wanted this relationship to work he also wanted to devote himself to his daughter. Blanche was blooming, faster than he would have thought possible, but at night she was still a frightened three-year-old. When the sun was up she could chatter and was even starting to boss her daddy and her Papa Howard around. But when it came to bedtime and going to sleep, she was plagued by nightmares and spent most of the night in Vince's arms. She hadn't wet the bed again but Vince had assured her that if it ever did happen, it was nothing to be ashamed of. She wouldn't be in trouble and he definitely wouldn't stop loving her. She'd been suspicious at first but she was starting to believe him now and each night when he held her gently and she held on to him like her life depended on it he found himself loving her even more (If that were even possible).

He did want to move things on a little with Howard though. There were so many fun things he wanted to teach his new boyfriend, even the thought of it made him blush. He hadn't been with anyone for quite a while and it was getting hard to restrain himself.

But none of that was going to be much use right now. He needed to face Jaquettie and Howard wouldn't be able to help him.

"It's alright, Vince," Howard told him softly, using his best animal calming voice. That voice was well sexy. "Tell you what. When it all gets too much just let me know and I'll punch out whoever you point to. Ok?"

Vince snorted. The only people Howard had ever punched had been that weird kid at the boxing club, Mrs Gideon and that old lady with the bag full of cakes (the kangaroo didn't count). Not exactly competition for a big northerner, really. But he liked the idea of Howard defending his honour.

"Sure, Howard," he replied, smiling up into Howard's earnest face.

"Or I could just hold your hand and be your big, silent, northern rock?"

"That sounds good too. A talking rock would be too surreal, even for us. Best if you're just my strong, silent type, yeah?"

"Yeah, love. Now let's go. You've procrastinated enough."

Vince leaned in to him as they took the last few steps toward the backstage doors.

"I don't even know what that means."

"What? Procrastination?"

"Yeah. Is it a compliment?"

Vince gave one of his flirtiest smiles, knowing that it probably wasn't a compliment but really hoping Howard would play along. He was just putting off the moment when he had to come face to face with Jaquettie. Howard probably had a fancy word for that, for putting things off. He was a proper brain box, no matter what Vince said to the contrary.

Howard gave his indulgent little laugh and kissed Vince's forehead.

"Enough of this little man," he whispered and then slid his arm around Vince's waist again, sending a little electric shiver through his body. He was getting to like those little shivers. "Let's go face the jumped up little seamstress."


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: I think I've been putting off this scene for about two chapters. I don't like confrontation in real life and apparently that carries over to writing too. Hope this works out ok. And thanks to all the lovely reviewers.

Oh, and I don't own the Boosh. Just playing.

.

"Tell me where he is or you are out of this show and I swear to you, you will never get a job in this industry again!"

Vince watched as his former mentor threatened one of the younger models. She was probably only fifteen or sixteen and looked frightened out of her beautiful face.

He turned to Jaquettie and scowled at the almost empty champagne bottle in his hand. The man was drunk. This would make things difficult.

Jaquettie wasn't a generous drunk, or a happy drunk, or even a remotely pleasant drunk. He was an incoherent bully when alcohol entered the equation and Vince had learned to avoid him at parties and to always stay sober when he had to interact with him socially.

He hadn't really questioned it until now. How had he been so blind? So full of praise for this man whom he knew could be so cruel and selfish? He'd been struck down by hero worship again, was the problem but luckily he now had a physical reminder that there was only one man he needed, and that man was Howard Moon.

"Leave the girl alone, Jean Claude, I'm right here."

Vince tried to make it sound calm and in control but it was hard. He could have slipped back into the cold mask he had worn constantly in Jaquettie's presence over the last couple of years but he didn't want to. Yes, it was harder to be genuine and put his emotions on the line, so to speak, but he needed to prove to both Jaquettie and himself, that he wasn't afraid to be seen as himself.

The squeeze of Howard's hand around his own gave him another shot of bravery and he stepped forward, bringing his best mate with him. Now it was Jaquettie's turn to scowl.

"Is this the creature who has turned your head, Noir? Really? I thought that when you eventually picked someone to fuck they would at least be attractive. Or is this some sort of kink? Do you have a penchant for bin men, Noir? Because that's what he looks like. Do you like to feel dirty, Noir?"

"He's more beautiful than you could ever be, Jean Claude," Vince replied, keeping his voice soft and steady. "You can't hurt me anymore, not now. This is it for us. After today I'm not working for you anymore. I'm sorry."  
"You're right, you're sorry. You're not walking out on me, Noir."

"What?"

"I'm firing you, Noir. Let's see what the tabloids have to say about that, yes?"

"Fine. However you want to phrase it, I'm gone. I won't be working for you and that suits me."

"Suits you. Suits you to try and ruin me! Was that your plan all along, Noir? To try and ruin me? To end my career?"

"No."

"Of course it was! You are nothing but a vapid, crawling-"

"No! I didn't set out to ruin your career," Vince actually smiled. "I thought I was setting out to end my own."

"I should have known you weren't intelligent enough to plan my downfall, you little bitch. But who do you think will want you when they hear I've cast you aside? No one."

"I don't care. Howard'll want me. My little girl will want me. That'll be enough."

Vince waiting. He knew that Jaquettie was trying to think of some way to get at him, to frighten him. He'd done it before, insulting him into submission but it wouldn't work this time. For one thing, it was obvious to everyone that Vince wasn't going to crawl back and that even if he did, Jaquettie wouldn't want him. It was hard to scare someone into submission when you had no ownership, no power, over them.

He also knew that the claim that no one would want to work with him was very close to an outright lie. A few days ago he'd been panicking that no fashion house would want to touch him. Now Ami was fielding half a dozen phone calls a day from people interested in him as both a model and a designer. There was very little Jaquettie could throw at him now that would really stick.

He risked a quick glance at Howard who was gazing at him with a look of real pride, as if he understood any of what was being said. Perhaps he did in a way. It was how their crimping worked, how they knew when the other needed rescuing. Howard's pride made him feel invincible, like he'd just slipped into the most genius boots in the world and knew he couldn't stumble.

"You," Jaquettie spat, stumbling a bit himself, as he stalked closer to Vince. "You're nothing but a gutter snipe I picked up and the gutter's where you'll end up again, you'll see. I hear your daughter was found in a gutter too. Probably by your bin man lover. You'll all end up back there, Noir, living on the filthy streets of London where you belong!"

Jaquettie was close now and Vince could smell the expensive champagne on his breath. It didn't smell good. It smelt like bile and bitterness and made Vince feel a little ill.

"What's the matter, Noir? Eaten too much again? Planning on becoming a plus size model now that I won't have you? You're just a hawk faced, fat-"

He never got to finish that sentence because his cheek collided with one of Howard's fists.

Vince watched as the alcohol-soaked designer fell to the ground with a resounding crash. He wasn't unconscious, not quite, but he was in no state to fight back.

Vince looked up at Howard in awe. He knew his mouth was hanging wide open and he probably looked like a right tit but he couldn't help it. Howard had defended his honour after all. Howard had stopped the bully when once he would have run away, declaring that they had to leave town. Howard had punched Jaquettie, for him.

He hardly noticed that there were two security guards escorting Jaquettie out of the dressing room. They'd been alerted to the situation and had arrived in time to see Jaquettie screaming at Vince, waving his arms around and looking like he was about to hit Vince with a champagne bottle. The security here tended to be down-to-earth, decent guys, not overly fond of fashion divas and had been secretly impressed by Howard. They each gave him a pat on the back before bundling Jaquettie out to his car and telling his driver to take him home and not let him out for the rest of the evening.

Vince didn't think Jaquettie would have shown his face again that day even without the security guards' instructions. Howard had one hell of a right hook it seemed, and Jaquettie was going to have an impressive bruise.

"Vince? Vince? Vince? Are you alright? Have you gone into some sort of fashion trance or something? Vince?"

"Howard?" Vince blinked, looking at Howard's anxious face.

"Yeah. You alright, little man?"

"Yeah, sorry, Howard. Drifted off a bit there. Was replaying that punch over in my head. You were dead impressive, Howard."

He grinned up at the taller man and loved that Howard grinned back, his moustache twitching as his lips did.

"You were the impressive one, Vince. I didn't need subtitles to understand that you were holding your own there."

"Subtitles are well boring anyway," Vince giggled, feeling a bit light headed. There were a lot of people in the room now, all talking, or more correctly, gossiping about what had just happened. Vince could hear someone exclaiming that Vince Noir had given Jaquettie the dressing down of his life and that his partner had taken Jaquettie down when he tried to attack. Vince didn't think he'd been that impressive. He hadn't said much at all. Everyone thought he talked so much but he never seemed to have any lines really. He didn't think Jaquettie had meant to attack him either but if it meant that Howard didn't get in trouble for the punch, then he was happy to go with that story.

"Shall we... find somewhere a little quieter, maybe?" Howard asked, still looking concerned. Vince supposed that giggling was an odd reaction to what had just happened so he nodded and let Howard put an arm around his shoulder and steer him out of the main dressing area and into a smaller storage room. Shutting the door seemed to shut out both the chatter and the whole of the outside world. Suddenly it was quiet and all Vince could hear was the sound of his and Howard's breathing.

"Thanks for, you know, defending me, Howard."

Howard beamed. "It was my pleasure, Vince. Even if it did hurt." He held up his knuckles for inspection and Vince delicately and lovingly kissed his way along them.

"Poor Papa Howard," he whispered and was a bit miffed when Howard laughed. He'd been going for sexy, not funny.

"It sounds wrong when it's you saying it, Vince," he whispered back.

"What would you prefer me to call you then you muppet?" Vince shot back, giving him a flirtatious smile so Howard knew he wasn't really angry.

"That's up to you," Howard hit back. "Man of action, sir, maverick, saviour. Lover?"

Vince shivered and Howard pulled him into his arms. Being in Howard's arms felt good.

"I thought we agreed on no punching though. What made you do it, lover?"

It was Howard's turn to shiver now and he pulled them tight against each other until Vince thought he might actually melt into the big, strong arms around him.

"I didn't like what he was saying about you."

"But," Vince pulled back a bit so he could look up into Howard's face. "You don't speak French, Howard."

"Gros."

Vince felt his body recoil from the word but Howard held him firm. Gros. Fat. He hated that word.

"It's alright, Vince," Howard soothed. "I've been studying my French dictionary these last few days. I'm still rubbish at it but I remembered that one. I was waiting for it actually. I knew that titbox would try to use it against you. When he did, well, I hit him. He had no right to say that to you, to do that to you. You're beautiful. A little on the thin side, but still beautiful."

"Naw, Howard." Vince felt himself melting again. "That's romantic, that is."

"I know you find this whole weight thing hard," Howard continued, bringing his face down until his forehead rested against Vince's. "But we're a team, yeah? The ultimate double act. We're Howard-and-Vince, Moon-and-Noir, the ultimate combination. Whatever happens, we'll do it together, alright?"

Vince nodded, feeling his eyes starting to get a little wet.

"Together forever?"

"You better believe it."

Their lips locked and Vince did believe it. He had Howard, he had his daughter. He'd bested his bully and had what looked to be a bright future ahead of him.

"Genius," he whispered against Howard's lips and they stayed like that, locked in their own little world until they were interrupted by someone who had come looking for Vince to give him a two hour call for the pre-show party.

Vince pulled away from Howard reluctantly, sucking air into his lungs as he tried to speak.

"Two hours? Oh, Jagger! I better get started on my hair!"


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: Oh no, it's nearly finished! Two more chapters I think. Thanks to everyone for reading.

To say that he was proud was an understatement but Howard couldn't think of a word to describe how he felt right now. He wouldn't admit it of course, he was supposed to be an intellectual after all, but right now he could barely remember his name, let alone a fancy word for how he felt.

Vince would probably say 'genius' and somehow, in a simple way, that did cover it. The whole night, the fashion show, the compliments and offers, Vince's joy, it had all been genius. And now, sitting opposite him on the bed wearing only his vest and pants, was the object of his pride, the most genius thing imaginable. His Vince. It felt like a dream, or a fantasy, and Howard wondered how they'd gotten to this point.

"HowardHowardHowardHowardHoward!" Vince had come running into the bedroom at a tip toe, holding his boots in his hands and trying to call to Howard while also trying to maintain a whisper.

"What is it?" Howard whispered back, because when Vince whispered it created a kind of magic that he just couldn't fight.

"Blanche's fallen asleep on the sofa!"

Howard creased his brow in confusion. They still had an hour before the pre-show drinks and Vince made a point of never turning up on time to a party anyway, so they had plenty of time. What was more, Vince didn't look worried or upset. There was a glint in his eye that reminded Howard of the moment Vince had laid eyes on Black Frost's red cowboy boots.

_"I'm having those!"_

Howard started to feel a little nervous.

"Is that a problem?" he asked, voice wobbling as Vince carefully put down his boots and sashayed toward him, his hips swaying in a manner that made Howard's mouth water.

"Not a problem at all," Vince purred, backing Howard up against a wall mounted, full length mirror.

"No?"

"No. In fact, I think she'll be out for a while."

"Oh." Howard didn't know what else to say. Vince's tone was practically predatory and, while part of his brain knew where this situation was probably headed the rest of him was panicking because it had no idea _what_ to do in this situation.

"I reckon we've got enough time to, maybe, have a bit of fun, yeah? Try something new?" He looked up at Howard with his big eyes, blue enough to drown in, and Howard felt himself surrender. He wanted this, he knew he did, but he was worried that he'd get the chokes again and freeze up at a crucial moment. Vince might laugh at him, or worse, be disappointed, and then he'd have to run away, hide somewhere until Vince forgot about him. Except that he didn't think Vince would forget about him that quickly. He'd said forever after all.

Howard gave a nod and at the slight movement Vince lunged forward to kiss him passionately, first on the lips but then up along his jaw line until Howard felt Vince's perfect lips nipping at his earlobe. It was all too much and Howard let out a moan full of lust and longing, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides as Vince's smaller, nimbler palms traced up and down his torso.

He'd been in the middle of dressing when Vince had tip toed in and his shirt was unbuttoned which meant that Vince's hands were running up and down his exposed chest sending tingles and shivers through his sensitive flesh. As he moaned again Vince pulled him away from the wall and down on to the bed.

Howard had barely hit the mattress before Vince was on him, straddling his waist and kissing him like his very existence depended on it.

"I want to do something for you, Howard," he whispered breathily as he kissed down Howard's neck and letting his tongue flick over his clavicle.

"Can I do this for you?" he panted into Howard's chest and Howard whined, actually whined in his need.

Vince seemed to understand and began to kiss his way down Howard's chest and every flick of his tongue sent a series of electric shocks through his system. It was too much. If this was what sex was like, he wasn't sure he'd be able to cope.

"Vince-" he tried to warn him but Vince simply slid back up his body, rubbing their bare torsos against one another and drawing him in to another fiery kiss. When had Vince removed his shirt?

Howard was losing his grasp of time and space and now there was a slender hand working his belt free.

He whimpered when Vince's mouth left his but a moment later it was back, hot and wet and all around him and Howard arched into the sensation. It was all too much. Wrapping his fingers around the silky strands of Vince's hair he gave into the sensation. Gave in to Vince.

They'd made it to the party eventually. Vince had swept around the room, wearing his Sunshine Kid persona like he had once worn the Lonely Angel one and most of the guests had been stunned at the transformation. Howard's trained, albeit small, eyes could see that Vince was nervous and his mannerisms were actually shy but he had wooed the fashion elite who had gathered to see both his designs and his change in style.

Blanche had been feeling shy, overwhelmed at the number of people and the cameras, and so Howard had taken her to a quiet spot backstage and left Vince to do what he did best: effortlessly convincing people to love him.

They had emerged when it was time for the show to start. Vince had pressed a kiss to Howard's lips to the sound of wolf whistles from the other models and peppered Blanche with kisses to the sound of several awws. They'd taken their seats in the front row and watched as Jaquettie's collection was shown, seemingly quite rushed, before Vince's collection was announced.

Every piece was beautiful. Vince had mentioned that they had been inspired by adventures he'd had with Howard and as each model strutted forward Howard saw the adventures come to life. There were the black and silver creations with red boots that called to mind the Tundra, white and neon outfits that made him think of Vince's short-lived electro career, and the fire and fur of the jungle room. They were stunning and Blanche was transfixed, enjoying seeing them up close after only getting a glimpse from a distance in the afternoon.

While Howard was able to take in the designs, he knew that many of the people around him were simply looking at Vince, and he couldn't blame them. He'd always had the impression that models weren't allowed to smile when strutting the catwalk. Vince had certainly never smiled in anything he'd seen during the _Unicorn Tears_ campaign.

Now though, he was grinning as widely as he could without actually hurting his face. He was riveting, entrancing... everything. Howard knew he was in love because he was gushing about the man inside his own head.

When Vince had come on to the runway for his final bow the stage manager had appeared at Howard's side and escorted him to the steps. Vince had scooped Blanche into his arms and smiled and waved as people applauded and the cameras flashed. Howard had hung back but when Vince had seen him he'd given him a look. It was a look of longing and of command. It was a look that said: "Get here now, you berk, so I can kiss you in front of all these people."

Howard wasn't too keen on kissing in front of a crowd but the look also told him that doing what he was told now would equal rewards later. Blushing hard and feeling it deepen when he saw Vince giving a little chuckle, Howard climbed up to stand beside Vince, who threw his free arm around his shoulders and gave him a thorough kiss. The camera flashes were intense but it was Vince's smile that blinded him.

They hadn't stayed long at the party. Vince had done the rounds, accepted the praise, and was given a number of business cards before pulling Howard and Blanche toward the waiting car and home. Blanche had talked non-stop about the colours and the costumes until she had suddenly fallen asleep in Vince's arms in the lift on their way up to the apartment.

Howard had watched as Vince carried his daughter inside and toward the sofa.

"I'll bring her in to our room later," he told Howard with such an earnest expression that Howard just wanted to cuddle him. He was such a sweet daddy and as they made their way to the bedroom Howard wondered, not for the first time, just how he had gotten so lucky.

And so here he was, with the object of his pride, the most genius thing imaginable, sitting opposite him in his vest and pants on the bed. His Vince.

"We can do whatever you want, Howard," he said softly. "We don't have to rush into things, do everything at once. We can just, you know, do whatever you want. Alright?"

Howard melted.


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note: This is basically the end. There's another little bit, an epilogue I suppose, that I'm tweaking and will post tomorrow. I hope this bit works. I think endings must be hard. Mint Car's my favourite song (well, one of my favourites), but I don't own The Cure, The Boosh or The IT Crowd. Enjoy.

Vince had been dozing, breathing in the scent of Howard as he thought back over the day. It'd been another huge one and he felt like he'd used up a weeks worth of emotion in only twelve hours. He tried to think back, go through it all but there were too many highlights. The rehearsal, the confrontation, the, um, fun times with Howard, the show, the party.

The party had been genius.

Even when he'd been the self-confessed mayor of Camden he hadn't received so many compliments and given so genuinely. It was odd to be surrounded by the cream of Paris's fashion industry and to be receiving genuine praise. He'd been given cards from some top fashion houses and told to think it over but he knew that he'd already made his mind up.

It had been so easy in the end. It still seemed incredible.

It'd been when he'd been gathering his cape and preparing to go that he'd gotten the feeling that someone was behind him. He'd turned around and let out a little scream. The man who'd done the creeping up screamed too and Vince immediately felt bad for his reaction. The man seemed so sweet, despite his pale skin, black silk shirt and long black cloak. Like a kitten in the Thames.

He was strange looking but striking too, and of course very famous. Vince recognised him straight away (Well, after the initial shock). He was Richmond Avenal, an exclusive designer and total enigma.

"Hello, Vince," he said softly. He spoke with a gentle and genteel manner that made Vince like him straight away. And he called him Vince, rather than Monsieur Noir which won him points too.

"Alright," Vince responded, wondering what he should call such a prestigious designer.

"You can call me Richmond," the man told him earnestly and Vince eyed him off nervously.

"Did you read my mind?" he asked.

"No. Just your face. You have a lovely face, Vince. It's like sunshine. I think you must have a very attractive skull."

"Um, thanks?"

"You're welcome. Now Vince, I don't wish to draw this out so I must tell you..."

Vince watched, confused as Richmond gazed off into the distance. He tried to see what he was looking at but all he could see was a wall.

"Richmond?'

"Hmm? Oh, sorry about that. Drifted off a bit. Yes, I would like to invite you to come and work with me, and I should state that I do not wish to have you working for me. I would like you to be my business partner, Vince Noir,"

He said it so simply, with no expression except that same gentle intensity and Vince missed the implications at first.

"Wait. You want me to be your partner? Like how?"

It wasn't exactly eloquent but Richmond didn't seem to mind. He just nodded and stared wistfully into the distance again and Vince stared along with him, just so he didn't look left out.

"My collections have become monotonous, like a week of overcast days in the early autumn, only without the red of the deciduous leaves falling. They need colour and sunshine and I believe you are the answer."

"Oh. Ok," Vince whispered, still staring at the wall in imitation of Richmond.

"And I saw a raven sitting on a swing in the playground the other day. I think that's a good omen. I'm like the raven, obviously, and the swing represents your child-likeness. I think we could make something beautiful together. Avenal en Noir. Or Noir en Avenal. Either way, I'm not fussy or anything. What do you say?"

Vince turned from staring off into the distance to staring at the man beside him.

"For real? I mean, you really want me?"

"Oh yes. You're incredibly talented, that is obvious. And Jaquettie's a tool. You stood up to him. I hear it was impressive. And I like you Vince, you have something very special. I think the world should see that. What do you say?"

"Alright!" Vince practically squealed and shook Richmond's hand enthusiastically. The cloaked man just gave a small smile and shook Vince's hand back. I shall expect you in at my offices, soon to be ours, on Monday morning. But I should warn you, things can get a little crazy around there."

Richmond was giving him that intense stare again, it seemed to his signature look, so Vince gave him a patented Vince Noir grin.

"Like what, Richmond? You don't really look like the crazy sort, if you don't mind me saying."

"Well, I am the normal one, I suppose. But the receptionist at the front desk does have ram's legs and that can put some people off."

Vince blinked.

Ram's legs were genius. He'd been missing the magic from his life but now it felt like it was all coming back. He nodded back at Richmond and then, on a whim, pulled the other man into hug. How did life suddenly get so good?

Richmond gave him a pat on the back, returning the hug in his own subtle way.

"Thank you so much for this, Richmond. I promise I won't let you down!"

"I know you won't, Vince," Richmond replied, wrapping his velvet cloak around himself. "I think you're brilliant, I told you. I like your cape, by the way. That's some very impressive hem work."

"Thanks!"

"You're welcome. Now I think you should be getting your significant other and your daughter home. They look exhausted. Very sweet, but very tired."

"Yeah, yeah I will. Um, thanks, Richmond. I'll see you Monday, yeah? This is going to be genius!"

He'd just about skipped back to his little family where he pressed an enthusiastic kiss to Howard's lips and whisked Blanche up into a spinning cuddle.

The night had only gotten better once they were home and Vince let out a little giggle as he remembered it. It turned out Howard was a quick learner and all those years blowing into brass instruments was finally being put to good use...

The happy doze was broken by the sound of a small wail and Vince was on his feet and out of the door before Howard even started to rouse. Blanche's little head was poking up over the sofa as she sobbed, looking confused but adorable. He scooped her up, murmuring that she was ok, that daddy was here, she was loved, they were going to bed.

As he lay down in the bed with Blanche on top of him she gave another whimper and Vince began to sing to her softly.

"All of this is perfect, it's all I ever wanted. It feels so big it almost hurts. Never guessed it got this good. Wondered if it ever would. Really didn't think it could. Do it some more, I know that we should. It will always be like this, the three of us together. Say it will always be like this, for ever and ever and ever."

Blanche snuggled back down to sleep and Vince was getting there himself when he heard Howard's barely-awake chuckle.

"That's not really a lullaby, you know that, Vince?"

Vince smiled across at him, taking in his mussed hair and handsome, bedroom face.

"It's The Cure, Howard. It's genius. And I can't sing their song called Lullaby. That song's creepy. Mint Car's the ultimate happy sleepy song. And it's how I feel. Life couldn't get any better."

Howard sighed and rolled over to kiss Vince's exposed shoulder.

"You're right about that, little man," he said before pushing his face into a pillow and falling asleep.

Vince closed his eyes. All he needed now was his own brand of hair dryer and life would be perfect. And if he didn't get that he didn't mind too much. He couldn't imagine a better life than the one he had right now.


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: Well, this is it, for real. Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. I'd love to know what people thought of how it ended. I liked writing this even more than I thought I would, hope it was ok for a novice piece. Ta.

Things weren't perfect, of course. There was the time when Howard baked Vince a pie and Vince had freaked out, thinking it was a trick pie. Howard had sulked all evening over that, until Vince had insisted on making it up to him by modeling the prototypes of his new underwear range.

Then there was the time they're been chased through the streets of Paris by a creature named Mrs Henry made entirely of corduroy off-cuts. She was a cousin of Mr Susan and had convinced herself that she and Howard were in love and made for each other. Vince had saved him, of course, and Howard had worn a bit less cord after that. Vince hadn't complained.

There was also the day they'd discovered that Blanche could talk to animals. She'd been sitting by the window, cooing to a pigeon when while Howard watched with a slight smile on his lips. He'd thought it was sweet but when Vince had walked in and heard the exchange he'd been furious.

"You can't say things like that to my daughter, you flying fleabag!" He'd yelled, flapping his arms and shooing the pigeon away. "She'll get ideas!"

He hadn't wanted to tell Howard what the pigeon had said, only murmuring that, "Pigeons are well racist," and Howard had left it at that. Until Blanche had called him a "Coo coo ca-coo" when in a temper. He didn't know what it meant but he'd told her that it wasn't polite and she'd apologised. There'd been no pigeon language from her since and Vince had loved taking her to Paris zoo and introducing her to animals of substance.

Blanche had moved into the spare bedroom eventually and Vince had cried for an hour because his baby girl was turning four and growing up too fast. Howard had reminded him that she'd only be in the next room and of all the extra private time this would give them and Vince had felt a little better but he'd still snuck into her room half a dozen times a night for the first week. Howard had eventually resorted to tying him to the bed to stop him from sneaking away. At least, that was how it'd started anyway.

The magic was well and truly back and Vince Noir and Richmond Avenal made their own brand of magic in the fashion world too, bringing androgyny to the kids with their sexy creations, and embroidered capes.

Things weren't perfect, though. They never are. Blanche still had nightmares and Vince did too from time to time. Howard worried regularly that Vince would leave him for someone more fashionable and Vince panicked that he was getting fat at least once a fortnight but they helped each other through it. Howard even learnt French, with Blanche's help.

No, life wasn't exactly perfect, Howard mused. But it was pretty close and whenever he was feeling down all he had to do was crack a joke and make the two loves of his life laugh in return. When he did, Vince's smiling face reminded him of pure sunshine and Blanche's laugh reminded him of glitter and the tinkling of glass bells.

They were his two Noirs and he would follow them wherever they went, do whatever they asked. Even if it involved dressing up as WonderWoman every now and then.


End file.
